Do You Think I Can Tell People About Your Eyes?
by LiberatedPen
Summary: RENT fanfic. It's been about a year, and decisions are made will change the course of all of their lives...
1. Coming Here Is A Symbol

My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Do You Think I Could Tell People About Your Eyes?**

"Mimi." I said quietly, looking down at her grave, so near Angel's. I've only been able to come here a few times since she died. It hurt too much for so long, but now, I don't know. It's not as fresh. The pain isn't as fresh. It's still there, but it's more of a gentle throb in the back of my throat, or a pleasant ache in my chest. I still hurt for her, for the times we'll never get to share, but I can remember all the moments of joy, too. I chose to let go of the moments of pain as best I could. That's what a year of remorse and mourning has brought me to. To remembering without regret. I smiled to myself.

I sat down opposite the headstone, which read, simply:

Mimi Davis

1971-1991

Measure Your Life In Love

"I'm sorry I don't have any flowers for you today." I said, laying back and looking up at the beautiful sky of an afternoon in May. "I didn't plan to come, I just… found myself here. But I want you to know I'll be here more often. I can now. That's what I came to tell you." Clouds drifted lazily by. I could feel the sun warming my t-shirt, a soft breeze moving across my face. The grass was fragrant and comfortable. "This is kind of odd, huh? I feel like we're on a picnic. Though all I've got on me is a pack of gum. Which, if you think about it, is probably all we'd have brought with us on a picnic anyway." I laughed quietly, picturing us laughing as we realized we'd forgotten the key ingredient. "Or we'd have shown up at different parks." I smiled, picturing that, too. "Inevitably, one or both of us would be forced to eat lunch with Mark."

Pause as I stared up at the sky. A bird chirped nearby. We'd always said we were going to get a pet. "Remember when you said we should get a fowl of some variety and name it Bush? I still don't get that."

"That's just sad, Roger." Came a deep voice to my left. I turned my head slightly to see Collins standing a few feet away.

"It was a joke, Collins." I sat up as he came and gave me a hug.

"Riiiiiiight."

"Hey- I've lived in the world long enough to get the irony. And even if I hadn't, I've got _you_ to explain the hard stuff, remember?" We both laughed. A pause as Collins crossed his arms over his chest.

"I wasn't expecting anyone to be around today." Collins said, looking around.

"I'm going in a minute, don't worry." I said, knowing that he probably wanted to be alone to talk to Angel, just like I had Mimi.

"No, no, don't do anything on my account." Pause as he looked down at Mimi's gravestone. "Bet she and Angel are tearing it up in heaven." he smiled to himself. "Keep an eye on her, Meems." And he walked over to Angel's grave.

"I didn't believe you, you know." I said to Collins as he took up a position similar to mine on the ground.

"About?" he asked, looking over at me as I resumed lying on my back.

"About it getting easier." I said.

"And I didn't believe the person who told me." he said. We both looked away then. "It's easy to fall into the mindset that you'll never recover. It's easy to believe you're not strong enough. But then you start to also know that you can't join them. Not really."

"Yeah." Silence for a few moments as we both thought about that. "It's nice. Here. Today." I said, the sentence broken up as though everything after "It's nice" were afterthoughts. Which, I guess, they were.

"Mmm-hmm." Collins agreed. More silence. "I came to tell Angel, but I'm glad you're here so I can talk about it with you, that I quit." You quit NYU?

"What? Why?" I asked, pushing myself up onto one arm to look over at him. He tucked his arms below his head before replying,

"Because I realized that I had other things I wanted to do with my time. Go to Santa Fe. Write more. Read more. Explore." He sighed. "I think it'll be good." Collins smiled up at the clouds. No, I realized, he's smiling up to Heaven. I smiled, too, and lay back down.

"I think so, too." I told him.

"I thought you would." Then, he laughed. "Please tell me that you see the cloud that looks like one of Angel's platforms." He laughed some more, stretching his arms out wide as I exploded into laughter as well. As our laughter fizzled down, he said to me, "You should think about it, too."

"About what?" I asked, slightly confused.

"Writing more. Exploring."

"Maybe. I don't know. I'm kind of moving day-to-day at present." I told him.

"No day but today." He agreed. "Well," Collins stretched once before getting up, "I'm off. See you back at the loft?"

"Aren't you going to talk to Angel?" I asked, surprised.

"Coming here is symbolic more than anything else, Roger. She knew everything I wanted to tell her before I came. As soon as I thought it, in fact. They're never far away." He smiled at me in the sunlight and was gone.

"Always was wise beyond his years." I said quietly. No, that's not giving him credit. He was just always wise.

"Writing more…" I mused. I'd gotten the itch, lately. The past few months. "When you first died, Meems, I wrote like a madman. Mostly crap. Just to feel like I was doing something. Accomplishing something. Getting all of it out somehow. Maybe I was. It did help. A little. Somehow. And then I stopped. Couldn't and didn't _want_ to write anything at all. Now I'm starting to write again. I want to get out. I want to sing, 'cuz, baby, you haven't stopped being inspiration. It's not glory I'm searching for. It's…" I didn't know how to say it. I guess, at it's very simplest level, I just wanted to reach. "Yeah." I decided. "I just want to reach. Out. Spread the story. Our story." Long pause as I thought about what I was telling her. "What do you think about that?" I asked. "Do you think I could tell people about your eyes?"


	2. My Hands Are Empty

My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

Sorry this has taken so long! I left all my chapters at school (and didn't email them to myself, 'cuz that's just how intelligent I am) and had to re-think/re-write this stuff. Here goes. I'll try and post another chapter on Thursday, 'cuz Friday I'm leaving to go on a trip and won't be able to post. Here's hoping everyone likes it enough for me to actually post more! Thanks!

To explain, here's a bit about Mark and his situation amongst all the 'healing'. A little background is necessary 'cuz I'm adding a little to what _could_ have happened unbeknownst to us all during RENT. Hope you enjoy!

**Do You Think I Can Tell People About Your Eyes?**

--Mark's Perspective--

It seems ridiculous, even to me. My hands are empty. Shaking. God, this feels weird. This… sucks. I shoved my hands in my pockets and turned towards home. I tried not to think until I got there. Fat chance. Night closed in around me and I was forced to partake of the solitude. The fucking solitude. I don't know what I'm going to do. Or how much more of this I can take. And that worries me.

When I walked in Roger and Collins were sitting on the couch laughing fairly hard at who knows what. I felt myself stiffen and just stood there, looking silently at them before turning and walking back out the door.

"Hey! Hey, Mark, come back! We've got news!" Collins sing-songed the last word. I didn't turn around. I just had to- to go. I heard a wondering, "Where's he going?" as I flew down the stairs. Not tonight. Tonight I need space from that place. Tonight... My bag swung listlessly at my side, moving along with me. I walked for blocks, feeling the unnatural weight of it floating along against my leg. Stopped at a bar and had a beer. Slowly had a beer. I was upset, but not in the mood to be drunk. Finished one. Had another. Getting late. I wonder where Amy is. I checked my cheap little digital watch. A little after midnight. She's at home. I payed for my drinks and left, walking the few blocks to Amy's apartment building.

When I'd first met her, working for Buzz Line, I didn't know what to expect. Little brunette. Looked spunky. Was. Came from money, though, which worried me, but it shouldn't have. She was my right-hand-girl every Monday, seeing almost eye-to-eye with me on every shot, every frame. Hell, she was my right-hand-girl _more_ than just Mondays. More than just the hours she was assigned to me. When I quit, I didn't lose touch with her because... Ok. Truth: I liked her. A lot. And we're good friends. And she knows everything about the group. She's seen Angel in more of my videos than I care to count, taught me how to see Mimi in a completely different, even more special light. Become a friend to all of us. And I still like her. But, of course, am too scared to do a damn thing about it.

I let myself in with the key she'd given me and found her asleep in her little old bed. Just because she came from money didn't mean she took it. Unless she had to. Which happens. To all of us. I winced a little at the thought. Ever since our little ATM scam had been found out we'd been forced to accept little things here and there from others. Some rent money from Maureen and Joanne. Some leftover food from the Life Cafe. Extra blankets from Amy. I hate it. That's why I'd had no choice.

"Amy." I said, gently rubbing her arm. After a few seconds she blinked her eyes and jumped, seeing me.

"Mark?" She asked sleepily, "What are you doing here?" She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and half-sat up in bed. God, she looks pretty.

"Umm, I-" I stammered, thrusting my hands once again into my pockets, "I- well-" Oh, no, don't start crying, you idiot! No. Great. Yup, there I go.

"Mark, what is it? Sit down." She moved over on the bed and pulled me down. "It's not- Roger? Or Collins?" She looked so worried.

"No, no, it's-" Pause. It's not as bad as that. "It, uh, finally happened. I had to sell my camera."

"What? Oh, Mark. Why?" She asked, her hand on my arm. That gesture warmed me like my jacket never had.

"I didn't have a choice. Roger's AZT-"

"Bull shit you didn't have a choice! Mark,you could have sold the TV. Or your hot plate. Your blood. Roger's guitar, or-" Amy started, but I cut her off.

"I can't sell Roger's guitar. The hot plate and TV went last week. And lets not even get started on the number of times I've donated blood this month." I warned her. She just looked at me somewhat neutrally.

"I didn't know it was this bad." She finally said.

"Well, it's my issue." I told her. She got a sudden idea and brightened considerably.

"You can sell my TV." She said, springing up before I could stop her.

"No! Amy, I can't-"

"And the VCR. I don't even use them. You know I hate television." She reminded me as she headed for the door.

"You work for Buzz Line!" I cried as she darted out of the room.

"_Exactly_." She said over her shoulder. I followed her into the living room, my camera bag still swinging uselessly at my side, only to see her unplugging her TV and VCR.

"Amy, stop. I'm not selling your stuff." I told her.

"Oh, Mark, come on. Take it." She said, holding out the VCR. I shook my head, pushing it back towards her. "Come on, Cohen, you know I'm not going to back down." She informed me.

"And I will?" I asked.

"Duh." She grinned at me in amusement and I fought the urge to smile back. Amy set the VCR on top of the TV again. "Regardless, you're getting your camera back. No arguments, ok?" She asked. I didn't say anything. "Well?" This time I did smile.

"You said no arguing." She smiled and smacked my arm, saying,

"Smart ass."

"I have my moments." I joked. Long pause as I just looked at her. How did this person enter my life? I like her so much, but I know I shouldn't even be _dreaming_ about a relationship. Especially because with Amy all signs point to 'Not Interested'.

"_Anyways,_" She began, but didn't follow it up with anything else. I sighed dramatically and said,

"You must be _so _bored with whoever you have to work with on Mondays." I said, then imitated her when she's really into something, "Oh, I wish Mark were still here to provide interesting conversation and insightful, moving documentaries. Not to mention his striking... good... looks." I trailed off, watching a very, very odd expression cross her face. It was like she wanted to crawl under a rock and burst out laughing all at the same time and was having a lot of trouble deciding which to do first. "Problem?" I asked mockingly.

"Uh... not a _problem_." She said, and did start laughing. Hmm...

"Yeah, I know. I'm quite funny." I said, which made her laugh harder. "What?"

"It's just- um-" She stopped, looking suddenly serious. "I, um, never actually got assigned to work with you." She said, starting to blush. Huh? "Monday is actually my day off." She said, the blush filling her cheeks. She looks even prettier when she blushes.

"So... you worked Mondays just for kicks?" I asked, confused. She looked meaningfully at me.

"Sort of." Was all she said, but I knew. 'INTERESTED!' was flashing in blue neon above her head. I grinned, insanely elated, and her lips found mine.

------------------------------

Later, as we got into bed to go to sleep, I vaguely thought 'Roger's gonna be worried' and sighed. Amy, whose back was to me as we lay in bed, turned to look at me over her shoulder.

"You're gonna need me a lot, aren't you?" She said it as more of a statement than a question.

"Does that scare you?" I asked, scared to death that it would. Please don't let this all ready be messed up.

"Yeah." She admitted, and pulled me close.


	3. You Are Coming Back, Right?

--My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine. --

-Hope you enjoy! I'm off to Puerto Rico in a few hours, but I may pop into an internet cafe to check and see what you all think. Don't be afraid to tell me! I can take it. Happy Holidays!-

**Do You Think I Could Tell People About Your Eyes?**

(Mark's Perspective)

Roger glared at me when I walked in the door the next morning, but I was too happy to care. Well, I was too happy to care _much_.

"Wipe that look off of your face, ok? Today we celibrate."

"Celibrate what?" He asked, still scowling.

"Life."

"What the hell's gotten into you?" He asked, his expression softening. Then it hardened again. "And where the hell were you all night? I don't mean to sound like your Mother- well, maybe I do just a little- but I worry about you." I grinned at him, entertained by something that yesterday would have frusterated me.

"Ok, I'm just going to level with you. Ok?" I asked. He nodded. "I was at Amy's." He raised an eyebrow, which was, of course, my signature move.

"Ok. And?" He asked, waiting for something more.

"And, I don't know. I think... I'm not sure. But something good."

"Thanks for not being cryptic. That _really_ would have worried me." He said, walking into his bedroom, but he left the door open, so I knew he wasn't actually mad anymore. I decided to try and make some breakfast since, having had a little money left over after filling Roger's perscription, I'd bought eggs and cheese and other omelette accoutrements.

"AZT's on the table." I called in his general direction.

"Cool, thanks." He called back. I heard him absently strumming his guitar and was painfully glad that I had sold my camera instead. As I started some butter melting in the pan, Roger said, "You didn't get to hear our news."

"Which is?" I asked, cracking an egg into the pan. It sizzled enticingly in the pan.

"Well, I'm not gonna tell you his news, but mine is that I'm going to try and start performing again. After writing some more songs, of course." Again, glad I sold my camera. He stood in the doorway. "Oooh. Eggs. Can I have some?"

"Sure. Give me a couple of minutes." I said, and he disappeared back into his room. "Hey! I think that's great, by the way." I called to him.

"Thanks." Was all the response I got. Not to worry. We understand each other well enough to know what the other means.

Ten minutes later we were both finishing up our eggs when a voice outside the door commanded,

"If this door is not open in five seconds, I will be forced to kick it down using only my boot-clad feet, which, though small, are quite powerful and need only to be stretched before use. Five, four, three, two-" but on two, Roger flung the door open, quite used to Amy's antics. Amy, grinning like I've never seen her grin before, thanked Roger and traipsed into the room, proudly holding my camera up in the air.

"Hey- is that the same model as Mark's camera?" Roger asked at the same time that I demanded, "How the hell did you get that?" A moment's pause as Amy dug a pawn ticked out of her pocket.

"Found this in your jacket this morning." She said, shoving the camera roughly into my hands. "Though I'm inclined to take it back, seeing the welcome reception it got." Roger was staring back and forth between the two of us questioningly.

"You pawned your camera? What for?" he asked, incredulous. I looked down at my feet.

"Roger, it was my decision. I... well, you needed your AZT. Ok?"

"I can't believe you would do that without telling me."

"It was my decision." I said.

"That camera's your life." He said, hurt and angry at the same time.

"You're more important." I said. Pause. "And besides, I think I've got something else to occupy my time." I blushed furiously as I glanced at Amy. Her expression, before offended, changed. Warmed. She smiled at me. Ok. She and I are agreed. I think.

"Huh?" Roger asked, still mad at me. I don't know why. It wasn't like I sold something that was important to him. It's _my_ camera.

"Amy and I- well... Are 'Amy and I' now." I stammered. Roger once again looked back and forth between us. I sensed him trying desperately to still look angry, but he was losing the battle. The corners of his mouth ever-so-slightly twitched upward into a grin.

"Ok, I'll grant you a reprieve. But later, I'm gonna smack the crap out of you." He grinned.

------------------------

"Ok," Amy said as we sat up on the roof of the building. It was pretty hot, but not unbearable. "I was trying to think of a solution to the money troubles, and I've come to the conclusion that you need a new roomate."

"A new roomate? No way. No strangers are going to waltz in here and disrupt what we've all got going on. It's stable right now. This works for us. Forget that idea." I said, surprised she'd even have thought of such a thing. She shied away from the look of disgust on my face.

"Not a stranger, asshole. Me." She said, smacking me on the head.

------------------------

Collins showed up that night to say goodbye to us. I was so surprised that he was just going to up and leave like that. Roger hadn't told me about the conversation they'd had, so it was a totally new concept to me. One small suitcase and a bundle of flowers. That's all he carried. Right before he left, I asked,

"You are coming back, right?" I was suddenly terrorized thinking that he'd get sick and we'd never see him again. Never know that he'd, well, died. God, that's hard to say. It hasn't even happened yet and it's hard to say. Yet. Wow. I can't think about that. He looked me straight in the eyes and said

"I don't know. I plan to. Once I've... seen what I need to see." And that somehow calmed me and worried me even more. He hugged me once, saying "To preservation" then turned to Roger and clapped him on the back. "To music."

"What are the flowers for?" I asked as he turned to go.

"Angel." He smiled sadly to himself, then looked up at Roger. "Even symbols need reassurance." Which made absolutely no sense to me, but Roger seemed to understand. "Live the life." And he walked out the door.

And for some reason I can't fully explain, Roger and I both started crying and stood there for some time, both of us wondering, I think, whether we should count another of us as lost.

I'm still not sure.


	4. Roger's Funeral

My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Do You Think I Could Tell People About Your Eyes?**

**(Roger's Perspective)**

"Ahem." Mark said, standing in the doorway of the loft and prouly displaying a green apron far too long for him. "Ladies and gentlemen, you are now in the presence of the latest addition to the Food Emporium's dazzling team of amazing cashiers." Joanne, Amy, and I almost choked to death on our chinese food. Mark sauntered into the room, striking several poses to show off his new attire.

"Mark! Mark! Over here." Amy called, sounding like a reporter. "Amy Carter from the _Post_. How does it feel to have been chosen for this prestigious team?"

"I _would_ say 'Like a dream' but we all know I was the top choice of all the supermarkets in the city. Quite possibly even the state. The _real_ question became 'Who is going to make it worth my while?'"

"Mark? Roger Davis from _Supermarkets of America and the Cashiers who Work in Them_. Just how _did_ the Food Emporium make it 'worth your while', as you so eloquently put it?"

"Well, Roger- Can I call you Roger? -I don't mean to brag, but- Well, since you asked... The reasons were five-fold. For starters they outfitted me with this stunning and versatile apron. Next came a very, very flexible schedule. I'm paid a whopping six dollars an hour, the dental plan is _amazing_, and- Well, the clincher was that they're pairing me with Todd McTodderson, THE best bag boy in the district." At that point, Joanne snorted while attempting to swallow some of her soda, effectively spraying it down her front, causing the rest of us to laugh too hard to continue the game.

**(Amy's Perspective)**

While Joanne went to clean herself up, one of Maureen's commercials flashed onto the TV screen (I hadn't sold my TV but had brought it over for them to use. My VCR, however, had been pawned.), which was lucky, because we all knew that if Joanne had seen one more of them she'd probably take her frusteration out on the rest of us, which wouldn't be pretty.

I suppose I should explain that whole situation, right?

Maureen was 'discovered' at one of her protests (about Mentos commercials, actually, which is hilarious. I'll explain why in a minute.) by this guy from California (Pete something) who was a casting director with some company. He 'just had to have' Maureen for a couple of commercials, which Maureen jumped at, and Joanne couldn't hold her back. The ironic part? The first commercial Maureen shot was for Mentos. Laugh if you will. The rest of us did. Well, except for Joanne, who couldn't go with Maureen because of work and is going crazy thinking that Maureen's going to go back to her old ways. Which, I should say, really are her old ways. Since I've know them, she and Joanne have had a great relationship, though of course with the occasional fight, but I privately think they stage those merely for Roger's entertainment.

Mo's done three other commercials since then. One was for mouth wash, one for face wash, and another for- ahem- feminine wash. I must now quote Joanne. "Peope now know _way_ too much about Maureen's cleansing needs. This has got to stop. I swear, one of these days we're gonna see all of these damn commercials in a row and think she's gotten her own TV show entitled "Washing With Maureen".

Joanne on a tirade is a spectacular thing, but fortunately, the commercial ended before Joanne came back from the bathroom, so we were in the clear.

Later, Roger was absently playing 'Your Eyes' in the corner when he suddenly froze mid-chord and stared in front of him with an expression I couldn't figure out. We all were just looking at him, likewise frozen in the middle of our own activities (Mark and I working on one of his films while Joanne flipped through channels), when Mark spoke. "Roger?" was all he asked, and Roger jumped and hurriedly wiped his eyes. Was he crying?

"Uh, I'm going to bed. 'Night, you guys." And he disappeared into his room before we could say it back.

"Right." Joanne said slowly. "Well, I was planning on leaving soon, anyways, so on that note, I think I'll go."

"All right. Have a good night, Joanne." Mark said, standing up. Joanne collected her stuff and left, Mark shutting the door behind her. He turned to me. "Do you want to stay here tonight?" I nodded yes and he smiled. We went to bed pretty soon after that.

**(Roger's Perspective)**

"Roger? What are you doing?" I heard Mark ask from the door of his bedroom.

"I- I dreamed about him." I said quietly, frantically trying to get the film reel onto the projector. Mark froze in the doorway. I could see him rubbing his eyes, trying to figure out what I meant. "Mark. Help me. I need to see this." I begged him, and he came quickly to help me. Seeing the title on the reel, he asked,

"Roger? Are you sure?" He looked concerned. I nodded, and he deftly set the projector up. I could tell he didn't know what to do after that. I sank down onto the couch and said,

"Stay, if you want." and he came and stood behind me. The wall lit up. Mark's face was seen, his eyes red.

"_April twenty-ninth, 4 PM, Eastern Sta- Oh, fuck it. Mimi- Mimi died today." _The camera clicked off briefly and then the wall lit up, showing her hospital room, where I was standing, my face red, soaked with tears, clutching Mimi's sweater and staring at the narrow bed where she had once lain.

"_Mark, get the fuck out of my face with that. You. YOU be here. Please. I need you." _I cried. On-screen, Mark lowered the camera but didn't turn it off. The floor and door to the hallway were upside down on the wall.

"_Roger- I'm sorry. I didn't think."_ Mark said. A short pause and then the camera jerked violently. I knew that that was when I'd hugged him. Hugged him and didn't think I'd ever be able to let go. I remember thinking, 'She wasn't supposed to die this way. Not this way. Not Mimi.' over and over again. "_Roger. You have a son._" Mark whispered. I pulled away then. The camera jerked again. I'd backed away from him.

"_Don't._" I warned him.

"_Roger-_"

"_Don't. I can't. I can't look at him. I can't. Please, Mark, don't make me._"

"_You have a son, Roger._" Mark repeated.

"_Fuck you._"

"_You have a son._" He said again.

"_FUCK YOU!_" And all you could hear was me crying. And then the camera clicked off. When it clicked on again, it showed me in a hospital hallway nervously gnawing on my finger. A nurse approached me and I asked, "_How- How is he?_"

"_Stable, for now._" Pause. "_Mr. Davis, have you decided on a name for him?_" In our living room I took a deep breath at the same time as the Roger on film.

"_Roger Samuel Davis, Junior. Name him that. After me. It's what she wanted._" And it was. Roger for a boy, Mimi for a girl. That's what we'd decided. "_What _we_ wanted._" I corrected myself.

"_Of course. I'll need your signature._" The nurse said.

"_Ok._" And I looked at Mark, once. Looked at the camera, once. And then I followed her down the hall. The camera clicked off. I braced myself for what I knew was coming next.

The next time the camera clicked on I was holding him. Carefully. Tubes and wires were everywhere. He was so small. I looked up from my son and into the camera and smiled.

"_Look at him, Mark. Do you see this? Do you see him?_" The biggest, saddest smile I ever remember having flashed across my face. "_Say hello to my boy. My Roger._" I looked down at him again, then back up at the camera. I was so proud. "_He's mine. Mine an Mimi's._" My eyes turned down to Roger again and I remember watching a tear fall from my face to his, though the camera didn't catch it. "_My God, you and your eyes._" Mimi's eyes were in my little boy's face. I wiped the tear off of his face gently with my finger right before machines started beeping in a frightening way and a nurse pulled him from me and I jumped to my feet, scared out of my mind. He was gone. That quickly. Just like that. And Mark held me. And the camera shook with both of our sobs. Click.

Last shot. Of me in what at first glance seems to be a park. It's not. Roger's funeral. It almost appears to be a photo instead of a video. Everything is so still. There's no one else in the shot. I'm just standing, staring into his tiny little grave. I light a candle. I blow it out. Let it fall into the grave. Click.

I'd done the same thing at Mimi's grave a week earlier. Made sure that Mark didn't get it on film. Cried so hard.

So hard.

So hard.

Realized that I was doing the same thing now.

Amy's hand found my shoulder and I was suddenly back in the loft. Suddenly crying at three in the morning. Suddenly encased in Amy's arms, completely unwilling to let go. Suddenly aching all over again for the son I knew I'd wanted all along. Aching for the boy he'd never be. For the man I'd been forced to become. For the price I'd had to pay to become the person I am now. Aching for the love I'd lost. For Mimi. Wondering if I'd really moved on as well as I'd thought but still willing to sacrifice our private story in order to help others who are hurting, too.

That night I wrote a rock lullabye for the baby of mine that I lost.


	5. Scattered

-1My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Do You Think I Could Tell People About Your Eyes?**

**(Roger's Perspective- A few weeks later)**

"Come one step closer to me with that, Cohen, and you will be in serious pain for a _very_ long time." I heard Amy threaten. She and Mark were in the living room and I hadn't been paying much attention to them since I was in my room.

"What do you consider a step? This? Or how about this much? What sort of distance are we talking about here? See, _this_ I consider a shuffle. Sure, I can go a good distance in a shuffle. But does it qualify as a step?"

"Mark, you are walking a thin line. A really, really AH! No! Get it off of me! MAAAA-"

"OW! JESUS!"

"-AAAAAARK! I'm gonna kill you!" I heard the distinct sound of a hand finding it's mark on Mark. And then I think a book made contact as well. I was laughing for multiple reasons, one of which was the fact that my little Jewish buddy had just cried 'Jesus'.

"Stop! Stop! Amy, stop! I call truce! I'm waving a white flag and everything-"

"No deal!" And she smacked him again. I smiled in amusement and set my guitar down, then walked to my bedroom doorway to watch. Mark was floundering on the couch, frantically waving a white napkin with one hand and deflecting Amy's blows with the other.

"You were the school bully, _weren't_ you?" Mark called out, half-laughing as she roughed him up.

"Only when it came to little blond guys." She laughed back, and kissed him once on the lips. He smiled up at her, completely unprepared for the smack she was about to deliver with a pillow. I got a good minute's entertainment out of them before they realized I was there.

"Roger." Mark greeted me as he slid off of the couch and headed to the kitchen. His face reddened and his eyes were glued to the floor. Amy stretched her small body and sprawled out on the couch.

"She kicked your ass, Mark." I told him. He grunted.

"Yes, I'm aware." He said, and then mouthed, "I let her do it' to me. I laughed.

"Mark, as the resident Yarmulke-man around here, I'd be more careful about what names you cry out. I mean, would the other guys down at the synagogue be cool with you saying 'Jesus'? They'd probably rip the Yarmulke right off of your head since, according to you guys, he doesn't exist." Amy said matter-of-factly.

"He _existed_, he just wasn't the son of- You know I don't go to the syn-" Mark appeared to be caught in some sort of mental struggle. "It's an _expression_!" Mark grumbled. Clearly he's not happy I witnessed that little scene. Maybe I should have stayed in my room.

"Right." Amy said, looking over at me and making a "crazy" gesture at Mark.

"And, anyways, it's called a Kippah, not a Yarmulke."

"Right. And everyone _calls_ it a Yarmulke because…?" Amy trailed off, half-sitting up to look at him over the back of the couch.

"I- don't know. It's Yiddish. I don't speak Yiddish." Pause and he seemed to shake the sudden bad mood off. "Let's go to the Life for dinner." He straightened his shirt collar importantly. "I got two hours of overtime last week and feel like I can splurge." We laughed as Amy agreed and got up to grab her purse. "Coming, Roger?" He asked.

"Oh, no. I've got to stop dating you both." I said. Mark and Amy laughed again, entertained by the truth in that. I feel like I horn in on their relationship too much. In truth, I feel like Mark must have when Mimi was still alive.

"Want us to bring you anything?" Mark asked.

"Cheese sticks. Lots of cheese sticks." I responded.

"Ok, great. When the Life starts making cheese sticks, I'll sign you up for three orders." Mark laughed, then used his finger to tickle Amy's neck and she squealed.

"So what'd he do to you, anyway?" I asked as the two of them started for the door.

"Don't say it." Amy warned Mark. He glanced from her to me and replied,

"She's afraid of ladybugs."

"Mark!" Amy smacked him on the chest. I laughed as they started round two.

-------------------------------

(**Amy's Perspective**)

"What's going on with you, huh?" I asked Mark as we lay in bed that night. "The bag boy on lane twelve giving you the eye again?" I joked, looking over at him in the semi-darkness of the bedroom. His bedroom. He hasn't agreed to really let me in yet. Still asks me if I want to stay over or not.

Mark half-laughed as he stared at the wall opposite him. "No, but the shopping cart kid has gotten pretty fresh lately."

"I'm sorry, did you just use the term 'fresh', Grampa?" I mocked him. He looked over at me and smiled.

"I deny nothing." And he kissed me softly.

"I repeat: What's going on with you?" I asked. He sighed.

"I don't know."

"Well find out, 'cuz I'm not a mind reader." I told him, though not rudely. At least, I hoped not rudely.

"Have- have you ever had everything pile up all at once? And there's all these bad things frustrating the hell out of you, but then there's this one thing- this amazing thing, that makes you feel better- and, well, that one thing holds you together. And you really like that thing. That person. Maybe even really love them. But somehow you still feel inadequate?" Everything he said poured out in a big rush. "Is that something you've ever felt?" I tried to hold back my pleasure at the thought of being the one thing that held him together.

"What's piling up?" I asked.

"A lot. I can't seem to get my film out. My film about… everyone."

"You made your film. I've seen it a zillion times, remember?"

"That one's finished, I know, but there's more to say. And I just can't find the words or the images or the heart."

"You'll get there."

"Maybe."

"What else?" I asked, my fingers in his hair.

"I miss Collins." He admitted. We all missed Collins. "To the point that I swear to all that is Holy that I saw him in the store today."

"In the Emporium?"

"Yeah. It looked just like him. I even started to go after him before reminding myself that he's not here. That's he's somewhere else."

"And he hasn't called or written?" I asked, though I knew he hadn't.

"No." Pause. "I'm worried about him. We're all scattered these days, it seems like. Maureen's in California, Joanne's always working, Collins is who knows where, Roger's out all the time. Which is good, I guess. I don't know. I'm just worried."

"Which is how you are. You worry about everyone and everything. It's like you've got a 'Protector' complex or something." He laughed.

"Ok, so I guess what I'm trying to say is that I- Well, I'd really like it if you moved in here with me. And Roger. But here, specifically. Because I really, really like being with you."

"Really?" I asked. He nodded and smiled. "Is that ok with Roger?"

"Yeah." He smiled. "He thinks it's great."

"Well, then yes. I'm really glad you want that. It's about damn time." He snorted in amusement and then coughed.

"Ah, excellent. I'll love waking up to the lovely attitude every morning."

"Damn straight." I agreed.

"Hey, to commemorate the moment, let's toast over a beer." He said, springing up out of bed and heading for the door.

"A man after my own heart." I smiled. I suddenly heard an 'Oh, shit!' and the sound of Mark hitting the floor. I started laughing and tried to ask what happened, but couldn't right away. "Forget you moved the chair?" I eventually called.

"Nope. Why would you think that?" He asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"You know, I'm not sure why." I told him.

"Me either." he said.

"So you fell over the chair?"

"Yep." He replied. I heard the fridge open and the clink of bottles, but Mark didn't come back in.

(**Mark's Perspective**)

"Hey, Amy?" I called into the bedroom.

"Yes?" She called back.

"Did you use my camera?"

"No, why?" She asked.

"I think Roger must have, then." I checked how much tape I had left, and knew that I'd had a lot more when we left this afternoon. I knocked on Roger's door, but he didn't answer, so I peeked inside. He wasn't there. Fuck.

Thinking the worst, I put the beer down and scooped up my camera so I could pull the film out and set it up in the projector.

"Mark? What is it?" Amy asked, coming from my room. Our room.

"I don't know." I said, hurriedly getting everything ready. I started the projector and watched as Roger walked into the frame and sat down. He stared to the left of the camera for a long time.

"_It's weird to me that I can still see their faces so clearly_." Roger broke the steady gaze he aimed at my camera and looked down, then back up into the lens. I was unsure of where he was going with this. "_I am not the film maker, and yet their images are so much a part of me that I am never quite alone. The lover. The friend. The wife. The child._" Again he looked down. "_That is weird to me. My lover. My friend. My wife. My child._" He stared into the depths of my camera. "_In that order. In those stages. It's personal. It's present. It's a past I can't escape and a future that I don't have any clear vision of. It's a waiting process, this process. A process where time is the enemy._" Pause. "_I don't know how much time I have left." _He licked his lips. "_I refuse to quit_." I let out a long breath. Ok. Ok. He's not going to do anything. Thank God. There was a long pause as he looked into the camera and I waited to see if there was more. There was.

"_My April. My Angel. My Mimi. My_-" And there he faltered. "_M- My son. My Roger._" It was then that I saw the tears in his eyes. He got up and turned the camera off.

He won't admit it, but he's cried so often lately that I have stopped knowing what to do. _That_ Roger was stuck in something that I didn't know how to fix. Or if I could fix. That Roger still hasn't gone to his son's grave.

"Where is he?" Amy asked, her hand half over her mouth.

"I don't know." I turned off the projector and handed her a beer.

"Still feel like toasting?" She asked. I smiled and wrapped my arms around her.

"Of course."

Later I went into the kitchen again for more beer and found a note scribbled and left on the counter.

_Went down to the Kennedy bar. Don't wait up, dear._

I laughed. My best friend knows me way too well.

----------------------------------

**yar·mul·ke** also **yar·mel·ke** ( P ) **Pronunciation Key** (yärml-k, yäml-)  
_n._

A skullcap worn by Jewish men and boys, especially those adhering to Orthodox or Conservative Judaism.

----------------------------------

Author's Apology:

I know that I have taken _way_ too long to post this and I apologize. I haven't had as much time lately on account of school, but I want anyone who is reading this to know that I will continue if you all like it. Please forgive me. :Bad, Fanfiction Author, bad:

Also, I found this song yesterday that was so unbelievable and works so well with where I'm going with this story that I couldn't get over it. It's called "You Mean" and it's by this blues-rock artist named Donnie Parker. If you have the opportunity to hear this song, DO. It's amazing and it will be in one of the next few chapters. Gah. I love it.

Last thing: I've been trying to respond to everyone who has written reviews/comments whatever for this story, but I'm not sure if they're getting through to you all. If not, I'll try and see what's wrong, but I'll continue to reply either way. Thanks! Hope you liked it.


	6. Responsible Young Men

-1**Do You Think I Could Tell People About Your Eyes?**

**(Video- Mark)**

_Mark turns on the camera and then walks into the frame, sitting down on the couch. He looks tired but happy._

"_August 7th, 4:55 PM Eastern Standard Time." Pause. "Still no word from Collins, but Maureen's back in town. She keeps trying to give us money, which is nice, but- well, I guess we really don't need it anymore. We're past the handout stage. Things are… really, pretty good around here. Really good. Ran into Benny last week. He looked happy." A door opens in the background and Mark looks past the camera. "Oh, hey Maureen." And then Mark stands up and turns the camera off as we hear, _

"_Now, listen, Pookie, you and I are going to have a serious chat about-"_

**(Mark's Perspective)**

"this whole loft situation. Clearly, _clearly_ in need of a pick-me-up, right? Right. So here's what I'm thinking: We cover the walls in black spandex-" I laughed and looked at her like she was crazy. "No! No, hear me out. Where was I? Oh, right. Black spandex. Walls in black spandex, we paint the floor to look like the sky, right, and-"

"Mo? _No._" I said, silencing her. She looked crushed. "But, if it means that much to you, how about you pick out a new shower curtain? Ours, is, uh, broken." I told her.

"What happened?" she asked, brightening considerably.

"It just… fell down." I said lamely. No sense getting into it. Roger's just fine being in the dark when it comes to the Shower Curtain Incident. Everyone else should be, too. I blushed a little and looked down to hide it. Spontaneity seems to be Amy's middle name.

"Right. New shower curtain it is." Maureen grinned and looked at her watch. "Oops, I'm late. Gotta run, hun! See you later!" And she was out the door before I could respond. Things are gonna be… _different_ with Maureen back in town.

---------------------------

The phone rang at an ungodly hour the next morning and I stumbled out of bed and went towards the living room to get it.

"What the hell?" Amy grumbled, her head coming up from under her pillow. Every night, without fail, her head ends up under a pillow. And every morning, without fail, her first words are 'What the hell?'

"Hello?" I asked as Roger's door creaked open and he demanded,

"Who the hell is it?" We clearly aren't morning people. Roger's hair was a wild tangle around his head. I suppressed a grin and turned back to the phone just as a voice said,

"This is Alison Grey. Is this Mark, Roger, or some _other_ person living in that apartment?" Wow. She's snippy for 5:17 AM.

"Uh, it's Mark." I told her, wondering why the hell Alison Grey was calling here. Lots of "hell's" have flown around for this early in the morning.

"Hi, Mark. I'm calling about your rent. I have a check here-" Alison began, but I cut her off.

"We sent it on time, I swear! And it's a good check, I mean, if something-"

"Mark, we received your check on time. The reason I'm calling is because someone recently sent _another_ check, for a considerable sum of money, with the instructions to use it to pay the rent of Mark Cohen and Roger Davis." Alison told me. What?

"What?" I asked, totally confused, a million thoughts racing through my mind. "Who sent it?" I was floored.

"It's a cashier's check made out to me, Mark."

"Nothing on an envelope? A signature? What bank?" I asked, trying to grasp what she was telling me.

"There's no signature. Just the instructions. So do you want me to send your check back to you or do you want this to be applied to future payments?" Alison asked.

"Uh, I don't know. I mean, how much is that other check for?"

"Five thousand dollars." She replied. Wow.

"Shit." Pause as I struggled to figure out what to do. "Uh, send our check back, will you? But- but only after the other one clears."

"It's a cashier's check, Mark, of course it will clear." She said.

"All the same." I replied.

"All right. Goodbye, Mark."

"Wait! Um, is there anyway I can get a receipt of some kind saying we're payed up through- Uh, how long does that cover us?" I asked.

"A little more than eleven months." Alison replied. "Yes, I'll send you a receipt. And a reminder will come when your next rent will be due and the amount. All right?"

"Yeah, great. Uh, thanks for calling, Alison." I said, extremely grateful that she had. She could have just kept the money, but she didn't. Huh.

"No problem. These are less than ordinary circumstances. Goodbye, Mark. Oh! And if you see Benny, give him a resounding 'Fuck you' if you will."

"Uh, yeah. 'Bye, Alison." We hung up. Roger had come farther into the room and had been attempting to smooth his hair while I talked. "Holy shit." I said.

"Explain. Something about a check?" Roger asked.

"I don't know why, but someone sent Alison Grey a check for five grand that's for our rent. We don't have to pay rent for eleven months." I told him. Ok. I think it's sunk in a little now.

"Who do we know that would do that?" Roger asked, stunned. Amy came out of our bedroom and Roger and I slowly both turned to look at her. She stopped in her tracks and stared back and forth between us.

"What? Stop looking at me like that. It's creepy." She looked totally weirded out.

"Did you send our landlord a check for five thousand dollars?" I asked. Her eyes widened.

"Someone did that?" She asked.

"It wasn't you?" Roger demanded.

"Hey, Buzzline doesn't pay me _that_ well, fellahs." She said, cocking her hip. Ok, so who else?

Since we were all up, we decided we might as well stay up and have breakfast. While Roger was pouring himself some Captain Crunch, he suddenly stopped and said,

"Maureen."

"Huh?" Amy asked.

"Maureen. She keeps trying to push money on us. I'll be it was Maureen. With money from her commercials." He explained. Suddenly it all made sense.

"That rat." Amy decided.

"Hey, I'm not complaining. Let her do with her money what she will." Roger said, picking up his bowl and heading back to his room. "By the way," he said over his shoulder, "I'm playing at the Kennedy Bar this Friday and both of you better damn well be there." And he shut his door and wouldn't let us in to congratulate him.

-------------------------------

**(Amy's Perspective)**

When I got home from work that Tuesday it was to see Roger and Mark sitting on the couch staring straight ahead at the wall and not saying a word. I stood there for a minute trying to figure out what was up, but had no clues.

"Guys? What's the matter with you?" I finally asked. Mark and Roger both took deep breaths, then Roger said,

"We just opened Savings Accounts." And gulped. I tried to repress a grin, but was failing miserably when Mark looked over at me. My grin had developed into a full-blown guffaw by then. The idea of them freaked out because they'd opened savings accounts was just too funny for words. They were out of the red. Turning into responsible young men. _That_ just made me laugh harder.

They spent the next hour looking at their bankbooks.

-------------------------------

Mark left for work a little while after that, having just shaken the half-crazed look from his face. He grumbled something about stocking frozen meat, kissed me, and walked out the door.

"How ya doing, now, Sparkie? Any better?" I asked Roger.

"I could do with a beer." he said, getting up and finding one for both of us. I turned on the news and was settling in to watch when I suddenly realized that I had no idea what Roger would be playing at the Kennedy Bar on Friday.

"Hey, Rog- have you written new songs?" I asked him. He looked startled.

"Yeah, I have." He said, then turned back to the TV.

"And we haven't heard them because…?" I asked. He looked away from the TV and down at his hands. His fingers were calloused from playing.

"Because… they're still personal." He said.

"Then how are you going to play on Friday?" I asked. He smiled a little at his fingers.

"Friday they won't be just for me and Mimi anymore." He stated. I was surprised at the emotion in his voice.

"Mimi was lucky to have you." I told him.

"Mark's lucky to have you." He returned, looking up at me. I held his gaze, for the first time wondering if- No. Not possible. Right? I looked back at the TV and prayed that the slight blush I felt wasn't visible in my cheeks. I saw him down his beer out of the corner of my eye. "Well, I'm gonna get out of here. Go for a walk or something. Wanna come?" he asked.

"No. I think I'll just relax for a while." I said.

"All right. See you later, then." He got up, checked that he had his wallet and keys and headed for the door. I watched him go, seeing the quiet strength he seemed to have developed. Seeing a lot about him I'd just glossed over before. I blushed again.

Oh, shit.


	7. Completely Unprepared

-1My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Do You Think I Can Tell People About Your Eyes?**

**(Amy's Perspective)**

When Roger stepped out onto the small stage in the Kennedy Bar, the crowd didn't stop talking, but all the same a sort of whispered hush, if that makes any sense, fell over everyone. There was still noise, still the flutter of voices… but there was also a sort of reverence I never expected from the half-drunk on-lookers.

Mark was late. I had managed to snag a little table near the wall for the two of us. Maureen and Joanne were stuck back in a small corner of the bar opposite the stage. I kept looking nervously around for Mark, but the time ticked away, and there Roger was, looking nervous but excited. Mark was late.

"I hope everyone's having a great night." Roger spoke into the microphone, playing with the strap of his guitar. A couple of people clapped in agreement that they were. "My name's Roger Davis and I'm here to play for you all. It might not be what you expect but it's what I'm here to say." I wanted so badly for him to do well. Maureen caught my eye and gave a thumbs-up sign. I grinned back at her and once again scanned the crowd for Mark. Where is he?

Roger sang "Your Eyes", the song he wrote for Mimi, and the crowd was hooked. A few girls were crying. A few guys didn't know what to do. He was brilliant. Still, Mark wasn't there. I was going to kill him. He shouldn't be missing this. This, I knew, was more important than anything else. He should be here for this.

"I wrote this next song again for my wife, but this was after she died. It's been a long time coming. This is everything." Roger said, and started to strum a slow, intricate, blues-y rhythm that was sad and uplifting at the same time. I don't know how he did it. "It's called 'You Mean'."

"_She used to say to me_

_She used to say to me_

"_Don't go cryin,_

_Don't go cryin"_

_But I've been crying_

_Oh so long_

_Did she know what she meant to me?_

_Did she know how I'd miss her?_

_Could she predict my emptiness?_

_Who will be my witness?_

_The witness…_

_I've been crying_

_I've been crying_

_I've been crying_

_But no more_

_I've been dying_

_I've been dying_

_I've been dying_

_For so long_

_Here's my shot_

_Here's my plea_

_This is everything_

_I'm meant to be_

_Here's my promise_

_Here's my gift-_

_This is everything_

_You mean to me:_

_You mean love and regret _

_And pain and happiness_

_Love and respect_

_And soft little kisses_

_Love and regret_

_Love and regret_

_You mean-"_

And there was this long pause while he played a few quiet chords and he whispered, "I wish there was a word for everything…"

"_You mean candles and flame_

_And long winter nights_

_Dancing like mad_

_And smiling through tears_

_You mean love and regret_

_You mean the night that we met_

_You mean years of my life_

_You mean moments of joy_

_You mean our little boy_

_You mean love and regret_

_You mean big brown eyes_

_You mean falling inside_

_You mean ripping apart_

_You mean heart-wrenching ache-"_

Roger smiled suddenly as he sang

"_You mean silly pet names_

_You mean smelling like pears_

_You mean long endless hugs_

_You mean love and regret…_

_But mostly you mean love._

_Mostly you mean love._

_You used to say to me_

_You used to say to me_

"_Don't go cryin_

_Don't go cryin"_

_But I've been crying_

_For too long…_

_You mean…"_

It was haunting, that song. His voice had this ethereal quality. It sent shivers down my spine. There was no word for everything she was and so he said no word at all. She just meant… everything. They were eating out of the palm of his hand. Hell, _I _was eating out of the palm of his hand.

**(Mark's Perspective)**

I had managed to get in through the door just as he started playing "Your Eyes", but had no room to really move and try and find the girls. It didn't matter. Roger had managed to reach all the way to the back of the bar. I don't think there was an untouched person in that room. He was amazing.

It was so raw and so heartfelt and so… honest? Yeah. Honest. He was being so true to what he and Mimi had that no one could deny its power. No one was exempt from the message he conveyed.

At the end of "You Mean" the audience didn't know what to do. There was only silence as the last chord died away. I could see Roger grow stronger.

"I've only got one more for tonight. My time's almost up. This song- well, I wrote it for my son." Pause. He looked out at the audience, taking us in. The crowd shifted a little and I stepped forward to try and find Amy. "This is called 'Roger's Song'."

I saw Amy up in front of me and managed to slide my way through the crowd as he started playing.

"Hey." I whispered, slipping an arm around her. She startled slightly and half smiled, half frowned at me.

"Where have you been?" She asked.

"In the back. Don't worry, I was here." And then our attention went back to Roger, up there on that stage.

"_I was afraid to want you,_

_Afraid to hold you._

_I was angry and scared_

_And completely unprepared._

_I was seething, breathing_

_But barely getting air._

_I was grieving, leaving_

_Until I saw you there._

_The smallness of the world_

_The depths within your eyes_

_Your fist as it unfurled_

_Oh, I had to admit my lies…_

_Baby, I wanted you all along._

_I longed to see your face._

_Honey, I was never very strong._

_You were my last saving grace._

_I was seething, breathing_

_But barely getting air._

_I was grieving, leaving_

_Until I saw you there._

_If I said I memorized you_

_Could you believe it?_

_If I said I loved you_

_Would you believe it?_

_My heart was twice dead_

_But then you re-lit the flame._

_My heart was twice dead_

_Until I gave you my name._

_And then suddenly_

_You were torn from me_

_And just as quickly_

_I ceased to be_

_I was seething, breathing_

_But barely getting air._

_I was grieving, leaving_

_Until I saw you there._

_One grave for my soul mate_

_Whose death made me leave my hopes behind_

_And one for my tiny angel_

_Whose death made me quietly lose my mind_

_I'll hold him again someday._

_Nothing will keep me away_

_I'll hold you again someday-_

_I promise you baby.…_

_I was seething, breathing_

_But barely getting air._

_I was grieving, leaving_

_Until I saw you there._

_Seething, breathing_

_Grieving, leaving_

_But then I saw him there._

_Oh, I miss their eyes…"_

**(Roger's Perspective)**

As soon as I finished the song, I could feel it. So many people in the bar seemed to be mourning them. But that wasn't what I wanted. I just wanted to tell people. I needed to let them hear it. Hear me.

"I thank you for listening. And for being such an amazing audience for my first time back onstage. Don't mourn the death but celebrate the life. Thank you." And I walked off the stage and to the tiny 'backstage' area. I let out the longest, heaviest sigh, and smoothed my hair. Mike, the owner, clapped me on the back.

"I don't know how you did that, but it was too… important for words." He smiled. "You're welcome back whenever you want."

"Thanks." I said quietly. Right now, I just needed to see my friends, but I was half-afraid to go back into the bar area. "Can I sneak out the back way?"

"Sure, sure." Mike said, leading the way, though clearly surprised that I chose that route. "Night, Roger." he said as I slipped out the door and into the night.

"Night." And I headed for home. I was sure that eventually my friends would come back there when they didn't find me.

----------------------------------

"Roger!" Maureen squealed half an hour later, entering the loft and seeing me sitting on the couch. "How could you sneak off like that? People were waiting to talk to you!"

"Simple, Maureen. I just wanted to come back here." I told Maureen, Joanne, Amy, and Mark. "To be with just you guys." Though I wished like hell that Collins was there, too. It was his idea, after all. Well, my idea seconded by none other than Collins. I wanted to bask, but I wanted to bask with all of them. With everyone.

Tonight was a success. I told a story to a bar full of partially drunk people and they listened. Really listened. Dropped everything and took it in. It meant the world to me. And the fact that my friends were all hugging me and saying how proud they were made it that much better.

This worked. I succeeded. I can do this. And I didn't cry. Though I sure as hell had tears in my eyes. Though I had to fight not to choke on my words. My lyrics.

That night I smiled myself to sleep.

**(Amy's Perspective)**

When Mark and I got into bed that night, it was after a few hours of me not feeling well. It started during Roger's last song and had been steadily getting worse. I was really uncomfortable lying there. Hot one second, cold the next.

"Can I get you anything?" Mark asked me quietly.

"No. I'm sorry. I just don't feel well."

"Do you want me to sleep on the couch-" he started, but I stopped him.

"No. I'm sorry. I'll try to go to sleep."

"It's ok, really. I don't want you to worry about moving around or anything." he said, sitting up.

"Stay. Really. I'm actually starting to feel a little better." So he laid back down and kissed my cheek.

"Let me know if you need anything. Wake me up. I don't mind." he said.

"Ok. Thanks, Mark." I said, smiling with effort. He soon drifted off to sleep.

I was surprised when I started in bed. I'd somehow managed to fall asleep. Once more awake, I couldn't tell if I was just having stomach pains or about to throw up. Something didn't feel right. I was sweating like crazy.

I moved around a little, trying to get comfortable. Should I wake him up? No. It's nothing. I'll be ok. I'm just sick. The flu, maybe.

Ten minutes later, my stomach dropped to my feet. Oh, fuck. I felt the wetness between my legs and brought my hand up to my face. Blood.

Blood. Not the ok kind of blood. My stomach seared in pain and I doubled over into the fetal position.

"Mark. Mark." I moaned, feeling like I was going to throw up and pass out and explode all at the same time. "Mark, please wake up."

"Amy? What's wrong?" Mark asked, jumping awake at my words.

"Something's wrong. Call 911." I started to cry. "Oh, Mark, I think I'm- I think I was-" I cried out in pain. "Oh, Mark. I think I'm having a miscarriag- Oh!"


	8. Someday

-1My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Do You Think I Can Tell People About Your Eyes?**

**(Roger's Perspective)**

"Mark? What's the word?" I asked, finally finding him in the hospital. Joanne and Maureen were on their way. Mark's gaze never left the wall in front of him.

"There isn't any yet. Not really." He said. "Just that she- uh-" He paused. "Just that there was a miscarriage." He cleared his throat noisily, attempting to cover up the tone of his voice. The way he said it seemed so… separate. As though it wasn't Amy that had gone through a miscarriage. As though it wasn't affecting him at all.

"Are you- How are you?" I asked, sitting down next to him. He sigh-laughed once.

"I don't know yet." He admitted.

"Fair enough." We lapsed into silence and I tried to take better stock of the situation, running over the night's events in my head.

I'd woken up to hear Amy cry out in pain and got worried, knowing that she hadn't been feeling well. I went to their door to ask if she was ok, but by the time I got there Mark had flung the door open and was rushing to the phone. Amy had passed out in their bed. I could see blood on the covers. I went inside and knelt next to Amy, wiping some sweat off of her forehead as Mark told the operator what had happened. Amy's head was on fire, it was so hot.

She briefly opened her eyes and just looked up at me, then doubled over in pain as I tried to tell her that it was going to be ok.

Within a few minutes an ambulance was there and they were out the door, Mark remembering at the last second to take a pair of shoes. I called Maureen and Joanne and was out the door myself after putting on a pair of jeans.

I couldn't get the look on Mark's face out of my head. I knew that look all too well.

It's so scary that within a few minutes your whole life can change.

"I suppose I could have brought you some pants, huh?" I asked him, breaking our silence. He shrugged.

"It doesn't matter." He said.

"Yeah. I guess not." I agreed, kind of freaked out by his manner. He's understandably not himself, but… I don't know. This isn't the reaction I was preparing myself for on the way here. It's as though he's afraid of showing too much emotion, so he's not showing any at all. It's unnerving.

Mark suddenly stood up. "She said she didn't know. How could she not have known?" He looked like he was going to throw up. "How could we- What's going on? How did this happen?" He leaned against the wall, hugging himself, and closed his eyes. "How could I lose something I didn't even know I had?" Pause. I got up and went to hug him as he whispered, "How could it hurt this much?"

**(Mark's Perspective)**

The doctor assured me that Amy would be fine. That's what he said. That she would be ok. I thanked him and he led me to her door. He said I could go in at any time, but that she might not wake up for another hour or so.

"You guys, go home. Really. There's nothing any of us can do." I told our friends. They went, reluctantly, and I opened her door. She looked so strange on the bed, one arm lying across her face, covering her eyes. She's going to be ok. The steady beeping of her heart made me think of Angel, of Mimi, but I pushed it away. She'll be fine.

I was desperately glad that I didn't have my camera with me. I knew that I couldn't handle turning that camera on and saying "August 15th, six-something in the morning, Eastern Standard Time. Last night Amy had a miscarriage" was out of the question. Even thinking it was hard.

She looked swollen, somehow. I don't know. She also looked deflated. I have a feeling that the image of her lying there like that will forever be ingrained in my mind.

I sat down in the chair beside the bed and tried to close my eyes, to rest. To prepare myself for whatever she might need from me when she woke up, but none of that would come. My mind kept jumping from one topic to the next, always coming back to the one thing that was the hardest to think about.

I wanted to hold her hand, but was afraid to. After a long, long while I whispered,

"I love you."

**(Roger's Perspective)**

When Mark sent us all home, I didn't want to go, but knew that there was nothing else to do. Amy was asleep, she was gonna be ok, and only one visitor was allowed, anyway.

So I left when Mo and Jo did, but instead of going home I found myself making a slow journey across town. I tried not to think about where I was going until I got there.

I knew, because I hadn't let myself forget, the series of paths as though I traveled them every day.

I stood in front of my son's grave in the early morning.

_Roger Samuel Davis, Junior_

_1991-1991_

No inscription. Nothing else on the gravestone. A small bouquet of flowers near the base. I vaguely wondered who put them there, but didn't spare it much thought. There were similar bouquets all around.

I looked at his name, thought of Mark and Amy's loss. "I love you." I said quietly. "I want you to know that."

**(Mark's Perspective)**

"I'm sorry." Amy said, and I jumped slightly, not prepared for her to be awake.

"How are you?" I asked, ignoring her statement.

"I don't know. How about you?" She asked, uncovering her eyes.

"I don't know." I echoed her.

"I feel weird." She told me.

"Are you in pain? I could get-" but she cut me off.

"No. I mean that I feel confused. And sad. And hurt. And… about a thousand other things. But mostly confused."

"Ok." I said, unsure of what to do. How to help her.

We spent most of the morning just sitting there together, not saying much. The doctor and a few nurses came and went. I asked her if she had known or not. She said she hadn't, that her periods had never been regular so she didn't keep track, she'd forget when the last one was. And that she never thought twice about it because of that. She said if she'd suspected anything she'd have gotten tested right away. I believed her.

Amy heard my stomach growl around eleven, and sent me to the cafeteria to eat something. She also instructed me to bring her back 'some pudding of the chocolate variety'. I smiled at her and found my way downstairs.

**(Amy's Perspective)**

"I come bearing gifts." Mark said as he came back into the room a little while later, holding a cup of pudding up in the air. "Though, unfortunately, not enough." He said, seeing Roger and Maureen sitting there.

They greeted him and he handed me the pudding and Roger handed him some actual clothes to wear instead of boxers and a t-shirt.

We had a surprisingly nice afternoon, considering the circumstances. Maureen told us stories from when she was in California, we relived a few comedic moments of our own, Roger smiled a lot. A few awkward moments. It didn't matter. I relished it all, knowing what I was going to have to face later. I wish the doctor had never told me.

-------------------------------

It was late, and everyone but Mark had gone home. I took a deep breath.

"Mark, I called my parents. I- I think I should stay with them for a little while." I told him.

"What? Why?" He asked, hurt, confused.

"I just do. I need to take a few days and figure this out. When they release me tomorrow they're picking me up."

"But- we're ok, right? I thought you and I were ok." He said, trying to understand, but he won't. Not until I tell him everything. But I don't want to tell him. I know it'll be bad.

"I don't know how I am. I just need to go for a little bit."

"But I can take care of you as long as you need me to. Seriously. I'll be there whenever you need me." He said, taking my hand.

"It's not about being taken care of, Mark." I pulled my hand away.

"Amy, please, I know this is going to affect us, we can't avoid that, but, I mean, I care about you, and you care about me, right?" He was freaking out, thinking I was going to leave and not come back.

"Please don't press this, Mark. Please." I asked him.

"Why won't you talk to me? Please, just-"

"You won't like what I have to say!" I cried out. He stared at me, surprised by my tone.

"We have to talk about this. We lost a baby." He said, his eyes betraying the pain he felt. I don't want to do this.

"_We_ didn't. _I _did." I said quietly, staring down at my covers. I heard him almost speak, but he stopped himself and waited. I took another deep breath. "I found out that, uh, I was over three months pregnant. So, if I'd had the baby, it wouldn't-"

"-have been mine." Mark finished. He was crushed. He knew as well as I did that we haven't been together for even three months. Not until next week. "Ok. Um," He paused, fighting for words. I could tell he was close to tears.

"I'm sorry, Mark. I wish none of this had happened this way. But- I know that it's not… it's not my fault. And there's nothing I can do to change it. And I'm sorry if I hurt you, but I'm hurting, too, and I can't comfort you when I'm feeling this way. So.. I'm going to go see my parents."

"Ok." he said quietly. There was a long pause as a few tears traced their way down my cheek. "I don't think we could have handled a baby anyway." He said, trying to shrug it off as though it didn't matter. I could tell it was his way of making himself want it less. It wasn't an intentionally hurtful thing, just a statement. I still winced. It still hurt.

"Mark? It sounds stupid, but I know you'll make a great dad someday." I told him.

"Yeah. Um. It's late. I'm gonna- Is it ok if I go-" he asked, uncomfortable, nervous.

"Yeah, go ahead." I cut him off. He got up and started for the door. "Um, I'm going tomorrow, so you don't have to come back in the morning. You have to work, anyway, so-"

"Will you call?" He asked, facing the door.

"Yes. Of course." I told him, though not exactly sure that I would.

"Ok. Goodnight. I- love you." He paused, waiting for me. When I didn't respond right away he glanced back at me, then walked out.

"I love you, too, Mark." I whispered as more tears spilled down my face. I love you, I love you, I love you. I'll be ok, I promise. I just need time. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me." I whispered.

**(Roger's Perspective)**

Mark came home that night with new sheets for his and Amy's bed.

I had stripped the bed and cleaned the mattress when I got home this morning, then waited for it to dry and flipped it over when I got home this afternoon.

It was strange, not being afraid of that blood. It was blood that scared me, but not blood that I was afraid of. It was the strangest thing.

I hadn't thought to buy new sheets. I'd just gone to the Laundromat and washed the ones they already had. Mark ripped them off of the bed and shoved them into a garbage bag. He was really worrying me. This afternoon at the hospital he seemed kind of ok, but tonight something was wrong. He looked so tired. Older. He wouldn't really say much.

He made himself some dinner, then put it on the counter and just stared at it.

"Do you want this? I'm not hungry." he asked me.

"I already ate." He threw it into the garbage. "You could have saved it." I said, surprised.

"I wouldn't have eaten it." he said, and walked out the door.

"Mark! Hey! Where are you going?" I asked, following him.

"I don't know." he said. He's handling this so differently than how I expected him to. So much differently than I did. I can't really compare the two, though. They're not the same.

"Can I come with?" I asked. He looked over at me and stopped in his tracks. I think he could tell that I was worried. He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly.

"I- I'm just gonna go buy a beer or two. Then I'll come back. Ok?"

"…Ok." I said, not totally sure I believed him. He walked down the stairs and I went back into the loft.

He actually did come back in about ten minutes, but instead of 'a beer or two' it was a case. We sat for a while, watching TV and drinking. It was getting pretty late when he announced that he was going to bed. I got ready while he did, brushing my teeth and then changing while he changed and then brushed his teeth.

I left my door open and got into bed, but didn't hear Mark's door close or the sound of him getting into his bed.

"Mark?" I called out. He didn't answer. I got up and went to see what was up. He was standing in the doorway to his and Amy's room, staring at the bed.

"The baby wasn't mine."

"Come sleep in here." I said, trying to help. Jesus, I was not ready for him to say that. I didn't know what to think, or how to ask him exactly what that meant.

He followed me into my room and lay on Mimi's side of the bed.

We lay silently awake for a long time.


	9. The King of Angst and Rebellion

Guess what, you guys, my faithful readers- I met Mr. Anthony Rapp IN PERSON this past week! It was amazing. I took pictures and videos (it was at his first book signing for the book he wrote _Without You: a memoir of love, loss, and the musical RENT_) and it was amazing. He signed his book and his CD "Look Around" and, of course, my RENT Bible. J It was incredible. If anyone wants to see pictures or watch the video of him singing "Seasons of Love" acapella, let me know! He's so shy in person. J It made my February (until the 21st, that is) to meet him. Ok, that's all. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

------------------------

My Respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Do You Think I Can Tell People About Your Eyes?**

**(Roger's Perspective)**

When I woke up in the morning Mark was gone. At work, I think. I showered and dressed, all the while speculating about what he'd told me last night. It just didn't make sense. At all. I don't know. I don't know the whole story, so all of this is useless, I guess. But I swear to God that if she cheated on him- well, I'd be really pissed. Royally angry. I dropped a few choice expletives just thinking about it.

While I was making breakfast I thought I heard someone outside our door. I assumed it was Mark until I remembered he was at work. I heard noise again, but still no one came in, so I went to the door and opened it to find a very, very surprised Benny standing there.

"Out. Away. Go." I spat at him.

"Roger, please, is Mark here? I need to-" Benny started to say, but I cut him off.

"No. Go away." I said, and closed the door.

"Roger! Please. I really need to talk to him. I heard about Amy and I really need to talk to him." Benny called through the door. What the- And then suddenly a thought struck me and stopped me in my tracks. I slowly turned back towards the door.

He knew about Amy. He really needs to talk to Mark. How the _hell_ does he know Amy?

I seethed quietly to myself for a moment, contemplating what that meant.

Apparently it wasn't enough that he had a thing with Mimi. He did the same fucking thing to Mark? _Amy_ would do that to Mark?

I flung the door back open and punched him in the face as hard as I could. He stumbled backwards and dropped to his knees as I prepared to hit him again.

"That's ok. I deserved that." Benny said, holding up a hand. "It's been a long time coming." He wiped blood from his nose and stood up. "Though I wouldn't suggest ever doing it again."

"Yeah? Why's that?" I asked, still seething.

"Because I'm not afraid to hit you back." He said, pinching his nose together, his eyes meeting mine. "You got some paper towels or anything?"

"No. We're fresh out. Sorry." I told him.

"Is Mark here?" He asked again.

"No. Get the hell out of here." I said, turning to go back into the apartment again.

"I just want to talk to him. To tell him I'm sorry." Benny said, stopping me from closing the door.

"Why the hell do you think he would want your apologies?" I snapped at him.

"Not my apologies. My condolences." He said, looking down.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"I want to tell him I'm sorry. And that I know what he's going through. I'd have told you the same thing if I thought you would ever have listened." Benny said, looking back up at me.

"What are you saying?" I asked, loosening my grip on the door handle, beginning to realize what he meant. "You and Alison-"

"Yeah. Before the divorce. That's partly why we got a divorce." He cleared his throat. "So, I just wanted to tell Mark that I'm sorry. That's all. Will you tell him I stopped by?"

"Uh, yeah." I said. He turned to walk away. "Hey- Benny- do you still need a towel or something?" I asked.

"Yeah. If you've got anything." He said, facing me again.

"Yeah. Just a sec." I went and got some paper towels from the kitchen and handed them to him. "Hey- um, how did you know about Mark and Amy?" I wondered again.

"Oh. Uh, I ran into Maureen. She mentioned it." He said, looking away.

"Oh." He turned away again.

"Thanks." He gestured to the paper towels and then walked down the hallway and disappeared down the stairwell. I stood there for a moment before going into the apartment.

That doesn't mean I forgive him. It doesn't mean that what happened between him and Mimi was right. At all. Because it wasn't.

Though it makes a lot more sense.

-------------------------------

Four days later, and Mark is driving me crazy. Completely and utterly insane.

Right now he's passed out in my bed. He didn't come home _completely_ drunk, but pretty damn close to it. I had no idea where he'd been or for how long or even when he came home. Oh, and he didn't come home alone.

When I'd gotten up to have breakfast, I found Benny asleep on our couch. I was clearly less than thrilled that they'd gone out drinking again together.

Standing only partly in the doorway to my bedroom, I glared at them alternately. Best friend, worst enemy. Best friend, worst enemy. I was fed up for two reasons:

One, that Mark hadn't posed a single objection regarding the shower curtain that had magically appeared in our bathroom the other day. No objection. None. To a shower curtain covered in pictures of Maureen. On both sides. No objections. I don't know about Mark, but I do _not_ need to have Maureen staring at me while I'm in the bathroom.

Two (and most important), the way Mark's been behaving. Not only the fact that Benny, the one person in this world that detest, is asleep on our couch (at Mark's invitation), but Mark's attitude. The way he's been all week! He won't talk about anything concerning Amy. I know she's been out of the hospital for days but he is deliberately misleading when I ask where she is. Every time I talk to him he asks if there are any messages, but then he won't discuss what call he's expecting. Mark is walking around with this chip on his shoulder the size of Rhode Island but is acting as though nothing at all is the matter. He's 'going out, having a good time, hanging out with new friends' all the time. And he's hiding away the hurt that I know he's feeling behind his own closed doors.

I don't know what to do. Maybe I haven't given him enough time- certainly not as much as he gave me, but the circumstances are different, it's not the same. Maybe if he had pushed me I'd have been better sooner. I don't know. I just don't know.

Mark's the stable one, the steady one, the one who may not have all the answers but is there if I need him.

Maybe this is just hard because I'm not sure that I can be there for him. I don't know how. I've never had to be. Or he's never let me be. Or he's never needed me.

I made as much noise as possible while I made my breakfast, trying to wake the two of them up without letting them know it.

"Morning." I heard Benny say after a while. He stretched and sat up on the couch, rubbing his eyes. "Oh. Roger. Hi." He said. I grunted. He'd been over here a few times since the day I'd punched him, and it was awkward as hell every time. I mean, I feel for the guy, understand him a little better, but I still don't like him. And Mark knows that, yet he still invited him over this week. In shrugging off his own emotions he's decided to shrug off other people's as well. I hate this Mark.

I'd finished making my breakfast and sat down at the table, trying to lose myself in coffee and eggs. "Is it OK if I grab some coffee?" Benny asked from the couch. I grunted again and he got up to get it, then he sat down at the table opposite me and stared down into his mug.

Suddenly, Mark came bolting out of my room fully dressed, where he ran straight into a chair and flopped gracelessly onto the ground. I choked on my eggs as I laughed at the sight of him lying there on the floor. Benny and I accidentally caught each other's eyes as we laughed and awkwardly the smiles left our faces and we turned away, unable, as opposites, to laugh at the same thing. We are enemies. No shared laughter allowed. I fought the urge to laugh at that as well. It was such a perfect TV moment that we had just lived in our real lives.

Mark popped back up to his feet, scowling at the chair.

"Give it up, Cohen. Until you move that chair back to it's rightful place, you will constantly be tripping over it. What's the tally on that, by the way?" I asked him. Ever since he moved that chair it seems like he falls over it at least once a day. He cleared his throat.

"Twenty-three, I believe." And he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. I heard a faint, "Morning, Maureen" before the water started running and I smiled in amusement. Ok, so this morning hasn't been so bad. Maybe he's gotten it out of his system and he's back to his normal self. It's been a week. Maybe he's realizing he was being stupid.

"I'm pretty sure I talked to 'Maureen' in the bathroom for a good ten minutes when we got in this morning." Benny said, trying to make small-talk. I resisted the urge to laugh at that, too.

"I thought you had to work at nine." I said to Mark when he came back from the bathroom.

"I quit." He said nonchalantly.

"What? When?" I asked as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

"About three days ago."

"What the hell, Mark? Where have you been going during the day if not to work?" I asked, pissed. He never said anything about quitting.

"Just out. Wherever and whatever I want to do, I do." He poured a ton of sugar into his coffee. "It's not like I have to work right now, we don't have rent to pay. And I hated that job anyway."

"That's not the point, Mark." I paused, no longer interested in the eggs I'd made. "Look, you've been acting so weird all week, it's not like you, and you're making these decisions that don't make sense." I said, wishing like hell that Benny wasn't here.

"Please, Roger, you can save it, all right? I don't need any lectures from _you_." Mark spat at me.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" I asked, pissed.

"That the King of Angst and Rebellion shouldn't be judging _me_." Mark said, grabbing his jacket and walking out the door.

"Wow. Really nice." I said, standing up and pacing angrily around the apartment. "Really fucking nice." His words stung. They were true, and they stung.

"He was way out of line." Benny said from the table.

"No he wasn't." I said, walking into my room and slamming the door.

**(Mark's Perspective)**

How could it go from laughing and joking around to _that_ so fast? I am trying so hard not to be freaking out that Amy still hasn't called and all he can do is breathe down my neck?

My life, my decisions, my job.

I wish I had my camera.

I went to the park.

Where is she?

**(Amy's Perspective)**

I took a deep breath and entered the loft, wondering if anyone would still be awake, but no one was. The door to mine and Mark's room was closed and I opened it quietly, not wanting to wake him, but he wasn't there. I was disappointed but also glad for the extra time. I wasn't sure if he'd welcome me or not. Wasn't sure if he'd be glad that I was back.

I changed into pajamas and went to brush my teeth. I just stared at the bed for a minute when I came back into the room. New sheets. Thank God.

I took another deep breath and lay down on my side of the bed. I hope he's not disappointed when he gets home. I hope he's not angry. God, I hope he missed me.

-------------------------------

I awoke with a start at about 4:30 in the morning and saw that Mark still wasn't there. Padding to the bedroom door, which I'd left open, I saw that he wasn't on the couch, either.

Where is he? Why isn't he home right now? It's late. Or early. Why isn't he here?

I tried to stay awake until he got back, but drifted off to sleep before he did.

**(Mark's Perspective)**

When I got up in the morning Roger was sitting on the couch with a very smug expression on his face. My eyebrows furrowed as I attempted to figure out why when I heard a noise come from mine and Amy's bedroom. I turned to see that the door was open and that Amy was lying on the bed, looking like she had just woken up. She smiled at me.

"Oh, thank God." I breathed, then tripped over that damn chair in an attempt to get into our room. I bounded back up off of the floor, hearing Roger's peal of laughter behind me, and jumped up onto the bed, straddling her and kissing her all over. "Thank God, thank God, thank God." I whispered as I kissed her neck, her jaw, her cheeks. She ran her fingers through my hair as I covered her in kisses and I heard the bedroom door close behind me.

"I love you, Mark." She whispered to me as I paused and looked into her eyes.

"I love you, too." I enveloped her in my arms and we lay together on the bed.

I started laughing when I heard the sound of a heavy chair being dragged across the floor of the living room. Amy laughed, too, and then I heard Roger laughing in the living room.

"Oh, thank God." I whispered, kissing her again. I hadn't really let myself believe that she was coming back. She'd said she would, but… I wasn't sure. I felt so much relief. Happiness. The need to make up with Roger, even though I knew we technically already had.

Amy smiled at me and everything else melted away.


	10. When I Close My Eyes

-1-Sorry that this is a little later than usual. I've had a hectic weekend (opening weekend for a show) and a yoga class kicked my ass today, so I'm not feeling so hot, but I still wanted to get this in for you! Hope you like it. Oooh! And see if you can catch the reference to Anthony's _real_ life that I slipped into the chapter. Whoever guesses it first gets… to write a line of the next chapter. Oooh. That could turn out interesting….-

My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Do You Think I Can Tell People About Your Eyes?**

**(Roger's Perspective)**

"I am sorry-" Amy said, coming out of the bathroom, her hands dancing lightly through the air, "- I have tried to ignore it and I promised myself that I wouldn't ask, but I'm afraid I must." Pause. Mark and I looked at her expectantly. "Why the _hell_ is that shower curtain in the bathroom?"

"You mean you don't like it?" Mark asked jokingly.

"I do _not_ need to have Maureen staring at me while I'm in the bathroom." Amy said and Mark laughed.

"That's what I said!" I said from the kitchen, where I was making coffee.

"Her eyes follow me wherever I go. It's creepy." Amy said, sinking down onto the couch where Mark was. He wrapped an arm around her. "I have to admit, though, for all it's Creepy factors, it's damn funny." Mark and I agreed, and the three of us mutually decided to leave it where it was.

"Ok. I'm out of here." I said after I'd had my coffee. I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door.

"Where are _you_ off to?" Mark asked me.

"I'm going on a job hunt." I told him, somewhat embarrassed.

"What? Why?" Amy and Mark chorused.

"Because you quit your job, we still need to buy groceries, and it's about time I did something helpful around here." I said quickly.

"What're you talking about? You… uh…" Mark began, but then groped for words. "Uh… music..." He finished.

"Yeah! And… coffee…" Amy trailed off.

"Yeah…" I said slowly, entertained by the expressions on their faces. They looked like they desperately didn't want to let me down, but couldn't for the life of them come up with anything of consequence that I do around here. "So, I'm gonna go look for a job." I restated.

"You sure?" Mark asked.

"Yup. See you guys later." And I left. I scanned the classifieds I'd circled as I trotted down the stairs, mapping out a circuit that would cut down on my footing it around town. This won't be so bad.

**(Mark's Perspective)**

I dove for Amy as soon as Roger left, pinning her down on the couch. She laughed at my display of machismo and said,

"Aw, they finally dropped, huh?" My mouth fell open half in outrage and half in amusement. The long-standing joke about my… _boys_ dropping once I hit puberty managed to both embarrass me and make me laugh in one foul swoop.

"I am both hurt and offended." I told her, turning up my nose and getting off of the couch.

"Aw, Marky, don't be mad." Amy said, giggling.

"Please never refer to me as 'Marky' ever again." I said, flopping into our recently re-positioned chair.

"But, _Marky_," Amy began, scooting towards me on the couch, "it's-"

"No! Stay away from me, woman!" She inched closer. "Away! Or I'll start calling you Amy Insultsalot. There! Ha!" I cried out, jumping off of the chair and standing behind it as she stood up as well.

"If you're calling me 'Amy Insultsalot' then I get to call you something better than 'Marky'." She said, her hands on her hips, taking a step towards me as I countered her. "I'm thinking 'The Albino Kid'. How's _that _for new nicknames?"

"What? No! I _refuse_ to respond to that." I said as she took off around the chair and I fled in the opposite direction.

"Too bad!" She cried, thinking she had cornered me in the kitchen.

"I'm using a Veto if I have to. I know we've only agreed to three apiece, but-"

"You can't use your Veto right now!" Amy called out as she raced around the table, but I beat her to it and raced the other way, flying to our bedroom door, slamming it closed, and locking it quickly.

"Too late." I called through the door. Then, knowing that Amy is ridiculously proficient at making locked doors fly open at inopportune times (for example, one of the first times we hung out together she managed to unlock the bathroom door and walk in right as I zipped up my fly. Talk about a close call. Two seconds earlier and I might have ended up a eunuch), I jumped away from the door and onto the bed. When the door flew open I was casually perusing a magazine, which made Amy laugh heartily as she jumped onto the bed with me.

"You're crazy." She told me, kissing me once on the lips. God, I'm so glad she's here again. My stomach feels like it's got butterflies in it every time she's near me. I love her so much.

"Likewise." I told her, tossing the magazine off the side of the bed. Amy smiled at me. "So, what would you like to do today?"

"Well, for my last official day off, I believe I'd like to go see a movie." Amy said. Tomorrow she's supposed to return to work at Buzzline.

"Seriously?" I asked, surprised.

"Sure."

"Ok. What movie?"

"Doesn't matter. I plan on acting like I'm in high school the whole time."

"Huh?" I asked, confused. She rolled her eyes and pulled me off of the bed.

"Let's go."

"It's too early for a movie." I said. It was only ten in the morning.

"Who cares? The weather's gorgeous, we've got the whole day, let's just go _out_. Anywhere. Everywhere. Together." She said, her expression happy.

"Deal." I smiled at her and we kissed. "Oh!" I said, realizing what she meant. "You want to make out during the movie."

"Wow. Way to kill the mood on _that_ one." She laughed and pulled me all the way out of the building and into the autumn that was enveloping the city. Halloween's coming up, and still, no word from Collins. I tried to shake off that thought as Amy and I laced our fingers together. 'There's only us, there's only this' echoed in my head, but I've begun to think that sometimes a mantra like that falls short.

I mean, if there's only us and only this, how can anything else exist? Does that mean that Roger doesn't exist anymore? That until he's physically here with me he's nothing but a glitch in my brain? And what about Angel, or Mimi? They may not exist physically anymore, but they still exist in my thoughts, in my memories. Where does the world go when I close my eyes? Existentialism is a bitch.

I smiled as Amy poked me in the ribs. She exists. That's all I need to know for now.

**(Roger's Perspective)**

Well, this sucks. Who'd have thought it'd be this hard to find a job in this damn city? I tossed the newspaper into a garbage can and stopped at the Kennedy Bar for a soda. It was nearly four in the afternoon and my job search had dwindled down to a big, fat nothing for the day. I'd been to nine different places and hadn't even been given a semblance of hope for any of them.

"Roger Davis, how you been? The Disappearing Man." Adam, a bartender who I knew greeted me. We shook hands as I sat down at the bar.

"I'm doin' ok, and you?" I asked.

"Pretty good, pretty good. What'll you have?" he asked, throwing a rag onto his shoulder. I remembered my days as a bartender and shook my head.

"Just a coke."

"Sure thing. So, you gonna play here again sometime? Mike keeps talking about getting you back to play." Adam said, setting a glass down in front of me.

"Uh, I don't know. Maybe."

"Well, talk to him about it sometime, he's been bugging me every two minutes if I've seen you." Adam told me, and I laughed.

"Sounds like Mike." I took a drink. "I think something's off with your dispenser. There's not enough water in this." I told him.

"Oh, really?" He said, turning to the valve. He sprayed some more coke into a glass and tasted it. "Yeah, you're right." He kicked the door to the kitchen open and called out "Hey, Terry, come fix the soda valve, will ya?"

"Terry's not here yet!" A voice called back.

"Aw, crap." Adam said, walking back over to the machine.

"Just adjust the crank in the back." I said, remembering all the times I'd had to tinker with stuff like that when I was a bartender. I was surprised he didn't know how to do it.

"Huh?"

"The crank, in the back. It probably just got bumped, it happens all the time." I said. He looked at me blankly. "I can do it, if you want." He said sure, so I went around the end of the bar and reached back behind the machine to find the right crank. Once I readjusted it, Adam tasted it again and said it was just right.

"And you knew that _how_?" He asked, getting me a fresh coke.

"I was a bartender for a while." I told him.

"Oh, yeah? I wish you were still a bartender, we're so shorthanded around here." He said, gesturing around the bar.

"Hey, if you're hiring, I'm interested. I've been all over looking for a job."

"Consider yourself hired." Adam said, brightening considerably.

"Yeah? Doesn't Mike have to hire me?"

"He won't have a problem with it. Come back tomorrow and you can fill out the paperwork." Adam told me.

"Yeah?" I asked, surprised.

"Yeah."

"All right, sure." I drank the rest of my soda, paid, and left, glad that I'd found a job, and one that I actually liked, at that. I started for the loft, but then changed my mind and headed across town. I wanted to tell Mimi my news.

I stopped at Roger's grave on the way, and said a few words to him, noticing a fresh bundle of flowers in front of the gravestone. Looking around, none of the others had fresh flowers. 'That's weird.' I thought. I told him goodbye, and started for Mimi's grave.

As I approached, a familiar figure was walking quickly in the opposite direction.

"Hey!" I called, surprised, happy. I saw fresh flowers on Angel's grave, and then Mimi's as I jogged past them, trying to catch up to my old friend. Of course he'd bring them all flowers. "Collins! It's me!" I called and he finally stopped walking and turned to look at me. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else." I said, nearing the person and realizing it wasn't him.

I walked slowly back to Mimi's grave, embarrassed that I'd made that mistake and kind of sad that it wasn't Collins. I saw the fresh flowers and wondered who had put them there.

I told Mimi my news, then wandered back home, lost in thought.

**(Amy's Perspective)**

"Mark Cohen, you had better put me down!" I cried, getting dizzy. It was about seven o'clock and we'd come up to the roof to look at the city and eat our Chinese food. What I hadn't bargained for was Mark sneaking up behind me and picking me up, spinning around and around.

"Oooh, first _and_ last name, you must mean business." He laughed.

"Why are we spinning around on a roof?" I cried out, closing my eyes. He stopped abruptly and set me on my feet, holding on to me.

"So that we could feel like this." He said, and I opened my eyes. We stared into each other's eyes as the world swirled and dipped around us.

"Wow." I said, impressed with how amazing that felt. Like we were grounding each other in a world of chaos. It was really strange, but wonderful. Everything was spinning out of control, but not us. Or maybe we were spinning out of control and nothing else was. I didn't care. Either way, we were together in it. He leaned closer to me, and we kissed.

"I love you." He whispered quietly.

"I love you." I said back. He picked me back up and I laughed. "Round two!"


	11. Buzzline is of the Devil

-1-So, here I sit, at 3:51 in the morning, churning out yet another chapter… I'm not gonna lie- I'm slightly buzzed. So… I apologize for any errors. I shall eat my piece o' cheesecake and drink my last inch o' alcohol and pray that you like what I, as well as the winners of the Spot the Anthony-ism Competition, have contributed to this chapter. Hope you enjoy it!-

My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Do You Think I Can Tell People About Your Eyes?**

**(Mark's Perspective)**

"So, tomorrow might be cancelled." Amy said to me one afternoon.

"What? Why?" I asked, looking up from my notebook. She and I had planned to spend the day together: Hit a few museums, grab lunch and dinner out, go to a movie or get tickets to a show- the works. A late three-month, or early four-month, anniversary. I even managed to get a present for her. One that I actually think she'll like.

"Because Buzzline is of the devil." She stated, sinking down onto the couch next to me.

"Buzzline is always of the devil. That doesn't change. My question is, how are they of the devil today?" I asked, trying to mask my disappointment. Amy sighed.

"I have to cover for Connor _yet_ again."

"What? Come on!" I groaned. I hate that little prick. He's the golden boy of Buzzline, yet he hardly _ever_ does his own work. He got credit for more than one of my pieces when I worked there. That's not to say that they were pieces I was proud of (it _is_ Buzzline, after all), but they were mine all the same. And yet Connor got the credit _and_ the paycheck.

That being said, I also know that he's had a thing for Amy longer than I have. Whether Amy knows that or not is something I will never bring up. I know that she'd never go for someone like him. He's too sleazy. Arrogant and rich and the antithesis of everything she stands for. I'm not worried about him as competition. I just really hate that he's around her.

"I'm hoping we don't have to cancel it entirely, but I _do_ have to go in. With luck, I'll be done by noon." She said, running her nails up my arm, which she knows I love. I could tell she was waiting to see if I would be mad or not, but how could I be? Disappointed, sure, but mad? No. Not at her, anyway.

"All right. We'll just play it by ear." I said. She smiled.

----------------------------------

"Mark, it's me, don't screen." Amy told me through the answering machine the next day. It was already almost two in the afternoon.

"Hey, Amy, what's going on?" I asked after picking up the phone.

"It looks like I'm gonna be here for a while." Amy said apologetically.

"Aw, really?" I asked, completely bummed out and aware that I sounded like a disappointed child.

"Really. I'm sorry, Mark." She said to me.

"No, it's ok. We can do it later." I said. Our plans _were_ completely negotiable, after all. "Anyways, it's not your fault that Connor's a douche bag." I commented, then heard Amy try, and fail, to stifle a peal of laughter.

"Well, hello to you, too, Mark." I heard Connor say. Fuck. Speaker phone. She _knows_ I hate that.

"Connor." I said in what I hoped was a neutral voice. I wasn't backing down from what I said, nor was I going to push it any farther. She has to work with the guy. I don't want to make it a bad situation for her.

"So, what've you been up to, Mark? I hear you've been working at a grocery store." Connor said, emphasizing 'grocery store' with definite disdain. "How's _that_ been working out for you?"

"Hey-" I heard Amy say sharply as I said,

"I was a lot more proud of that job that I ever was being a sell-out like you, Connor."

"Interesting. What would you call Amy, then, if _I'm_ a sellout?" Connor shot back at me.

"_Stop_ it, both of you." Amy stopped me from having to answer. I heard the click of the phone being picked up. "I'll call you later, all right?" She asked me.

"Fine, later is fine." I said, anger pulsing through my temples. God, I hate that guy.

"I love you." Amy told me.

"I love you." And we hung up. Pissed off, I grabbed my jacket and went for a walk.

**(Roger's Perspective)**

I can't believe I'm having this conversation. I can't believe she managed to corner me this way. I can't believe I'm her new test-audience.

"Maureen, if you want me to take you seriously, you're going to have to put your shirt back on. And consider a bra. Please." I told her, completely exasperated and on the end of a very, _very_ short rope.

Does the woman _not_ know how long it's been since I've been with a woman? Seeing a freaking _hand cream _commercial on TV is enough to turn me on these days! And now _this_?

There was a long pause during which neither of us spoke.

…And then Mark walked in. There were several completely 'weirded-out' looks exchanged between myself and Mark, and then he walked into his room and shut the door, no questions asked. Maureen huffed something about no one understanding the statement she was making and about her genius being wasted on peons, threw her shirt on, and stormed out the door.

I took a cold shower.

**(Amy's Perspective)**

I sat gently on the edge of mine and Mark's bed late that night and ran my nails up and down his arm to wake him up. It took him a while to wake up, but he smiled as he saw me.

"Hey," Mark said simply, then, seeing the bright red glow of the alarm clock he squinted and asked, "Uh, you do realize that it's three o'clock in the morning, right?"

"Yeah, I know." I replied, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I want to show you something. It's important." I told him. He looked confused. "Come with me, ok? And put something warm on."

"Ok." He sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, then putting his glasses on. I handed him a jacket and shoes and socks. "We're not going far, are we?"

"Nope. Just come on." I said, grinning to myself.

"It smells good." He said, breathing deeply. I didn't say anything, just took his hand and led him up to the roof. "Oh, wow." He said, staring about us in surprise and wonder. I'd put up some Christmas lights, set a table, and made French toast and eggs and bacon and coffee for us to have. A late-night rendezvous on the roof. "What'd you do?" He asked, smiling at me and pulling me close. I shivered slightly in the cool, early morning air.

"Made us an anniversary party." He kissed me. "I'm sorry about today."

"Don't worry about it." He held me close. "This is great. Really great."

"Let's eat." I said, my stomach grumbling from smelling all the good food for so long while I cooked. We sat down and had breakfast, smiling and laughing and sharing "I love you's" until the sun started to come up. And then we shared that, too. And I thought, 'I want to always be like this. Together, with him.' And smiling like there was a lifetime of this before me. I really think there is.

And to top it all off Mark disappeared for a few minutes and when he came back he was holding a box that he'd gift-wrapped himself. He held it out to me shyly, looking hopeful.

I unwrapped it to find a camera of my own, identical to Mark's, full of promise. A perfect gift, something that I've always wanted but haven't been able to get for myself. I know I'll never use my more high-tech one again unless I have to.

I laughed harder than I ever have before when I saw that he'd had a small engraving fitted to it's beautiful casing.

'All my love, The Albino Kid'

Perfect.

-------------------------------

A week later, I walked out of mine and Mark's bedroom early in the morning and discovered someone wrapped in a blanket and sleeping on the couch. I stopped in my tracks and turned back to see if Mark was sleeping in our bed. Check. I tiptoed to Roger's door and peeked inside to see if he was sleeping in his bed. Check.

I'd like to state right here and now that I did not freak out. At all. Neither did I alert the authorities (the 'authorities' being Mark and Roger. I wasn't about to call the cops). I simply crept towards the end of the couch to see if it was someone we actually knew. Maureen, perhaps. Or Joanne. Maybe they'd had a fight. But I'm pretty sure I was aware the whole time that the person was too big to be either of them.

Just to re-state: I did not freak out.

The end of the couch I went to turned out to be the wrong end. All I could see were feet. I held my breath and crept to the _other_ side of the couch. Bingo. I could see half of the guy's face, pressed into the back of the couch.

Aware that I _definitely _needed to wake Mark up,I walked quietly into our bedroom and caressed his arm, my finger pressed to his lips to signal that he needed to stay quiet. When his eyes finally fluttered open, he looked questioningly at me.

"Get up." I whispered.

"What's going on?" He whispered back, his brow furrowing in confusion and suspicion. I've woken him up at strange hours of the night way too often lately. He no longer trusts me.

"Shh. Just get up. I'm gonna go get Roger." I whispered. He sat up in bed and rubbed his face while I went to Roger's room.

"What do you want?" Roger grumbled into his pillow when I woke him up.

"Shh! Get up." I said, half-annoyed that he'd been so loud. He flopped over on the bed, the springs squeaking noisily. "Shh! Come on." I reiterated. I didn't want Roger to wake him up. He rolled his eyes at me and got out of bed, making an oddly strangled sound in the back of his throat when his bare feet hit the cold floor. I stifled a laugh and led him into the living room, where we found Mark standing in the doorway to our room, staring at the figure on the couch. "It's Collins." I whispered, a huge grin on my face. Both of them brightened, fairly beaming from ear to ear. Why don't _I _have that same affect on them?

We walked to the couch and Roger reached out a hand to wake Collins up when he bolted up into a sitting position on the couch.

"Don't you _ever_ do that to me again!" He cried out.

"Collins!" Mark and Roger cried, making a dive for him as I asked "Why?"

"I woke up surrounded by white people! That's enough to scare anybody." He laughed, hugging each of us in turn.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------


	12. CollINS!

-1-------------------------------

Ok, so I finished all my homework, popped in my RENT DVD for the zillionth time, and suddenly decided I should write a spur-of-the-moment chapter. Don't worry- I'll probably still post another chapter this weekend sometime. If you like it, leave a review! They are appreciated and always welcome, whether they consist of praise or of criticism. Enjoy!

-------------------------------

My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Do You Think I Can Tell People About Your Eyes?**

**(Mark's Perspective)**

"Collins, Collins, Collins, Collins, Coll-INS!" Roger sang to a few hard-rock chord progressions that he played on his guitar. Collins laughed, chucked a pillow at Roger's head, then protected his coffee as the same pillow sailed back across the room.

Amy attempted to get Collins' attention by filming every move he made, which made us all laugh when he announced that one film-maker was enough for this little family. "In other words, Mark, you're gonna have to leave." He said, slinging one arm around me. "It's been a good couple of years, but we found a prettier, wittier, niftier replacement." He extended one hand towards Amy, who was still taping.

"I am both hurt and offended." I said. "There's _no way_ she's niftier than me." We all burst out laughing.

Clearly we were all elated that Collins was back.

Amy left for work and the three of us clowned around, excited to be around each other and just generally acting like morons.

Collins was brimming with questions about what's been going on since he's been gone, but Roger and I refused to answer until he told us what _he'd_ been up to.

He finally told us that he'd been all over- 'California, Wyoming- they are _not_ fans of gay men out there- Chicago, Louisiana, all over. But I spent the most time in Santa Fe.' He'd even managed to run into some people that Roger knew from the time _he_ spent in Santa Fe. It's such a small world sometimes.

Collins seemed so happy and calm and just…excited about life. I'd forgotten how contagious he was in that regard. The three of us were bouncing off the walls telling stories about things that have happened the last couple of months.

The only thing we didn't talk about was Amy's miscarriage and everything surrounding it. Roger pretended not to notice. It's just that Amy and I haven't talked about it since she's been back, so there was no way I was going to talk about it to anyone else. I do need to talk to her about it, though. We have to. We can't pretend it didn't happen, though I really wish we could.

It was only a momentary downer. I was way too excited about Collins reappearance to stay worried about it.

**(Roger's Perspective)**

Collins is officially a resident of the loft again. I think part of me really didn't know if he was coming back or not. Or, if he did, what kind of condition he'd be in. I think that was the part that scared me most of all. If he'd come back sick, I'd have felt terrible, obviously, but not only because he'd be sick. I think it would have made me question my own mortality even more than I do now. Needless to say, I'm glad he came back happy and healthy.

"What the _hell_ is going on with that shower curtain? Who gave the Ok for _that_?" Collins laughed, coming out of the bathroom. Mark and I grinned from our seats in the living room.

"Why does everyone keep asking that?" I asked, turning to Mark, who just chuckled and shrugged.

A little while after that, Mark left to go to the grocery store and Collins asked if I wanted to go to the cemetery with him.

"I was just too tired last night to go. And I would have had to jump the fence, anyway." Collins said. I agreed and we headed over there, talking along the way. "I want to hear your songs, Rog. I think it's awesome that you've started performing again."

"Performing? I don't know if there'll be a repeat." I told him.

"Why not?" He asked. "According to Mark, you were great. Did they ask you to play again?"

"Well, yeah. It's just- I feel like Mimi and Roger are the only things I know how to write about. Not that that's bad, it's just- it takes a lot out of me. It felt good when I performed the songs I wrote about them, but I just need to figure out how to write about other aspects of my life."

"Is there any part of your life unaffected by their deaths?" He asked. I stopped in my tracks. I'd never asked myself that.

"Well- no. I guess I never thought about it that way."

"Try it. It's humbling, but really freeing." We started walking again. "The affect doesn't have to be negative, you know."

"I know." I said. God, I'm glad he's back. Three hours with him and already he's given me something to think about.

As we neared the cemetery I asked Collins if we could go to Roger's grave first and then go see Angel and Mimi's. I saw him smile out of the corner of my eye and he agreed. After stopping at Roger's grave we walked to where our partners graves were, only to see Benny standing in front of Mimi's grave, holding a bouquet of flowers.

"Collins, how are you? I didn't know you were back." Benny said, avoiding my gaze. They hugged like old friends.

"I just got back. I'm good. How are you these days?"

"Oh, the usual. It's good to see you. Hi, Roger." He said awkwardly.

"What are you doing here?" I asked coldly. It was Benny who'd been leaving the bouquets?

"I come here sometimes, that's all." Benny said.

"Why?" I snapped.

"Whoa, Roger, lay off the man." Collins said, stepping closer to me. "What's the problem?"

"I want to know why you leave flowers on my wife's grave."

"I just… do. I don't have to explain that to you." He said.

"There's no reason why he shouldn't, Roger. She was his friend, too." Collins said. I laughed. "Knock it off. He has a right to." Collins said sharply. What?

"You may have a right to come for Mimi, but you sure as hell don't have any right to leave them for my son." I said, pissed off to all hell.

"Roger, I'm not trying to do anything to you, ok? I leave them flowers because I feel like I owe something to them. I messed up a lot of stuff. I just want- It makes me feel better. All right? And maybe I don't deserve to feel better, but I'm not going to stop coming here, ok? You don't have the right to take that from me." Benny paused. My fists were clenched so tightly it hurt. "I think you've blamed me long enough."

There was a long pause during which I didn't know what to say and Collins just kept looking back and forth between the two of us.

I glanced down at Mimi's tombstone and suddenly felt this sweeping release. 'Measure your life in love'. I laughed sadly for a second and neither of them knew what to do. I gestured to the headstone. "I think there is still a part of me that doesn't follow that." I said, looking down at the ground. It was so strange, the feeling of letting go. Good. It felt… good. "I, uh, wouldn't expect an instant miracle, but, um," I looked up at him, "I can try." I glanced at Collins, who had the softest, proudest expression on his face. He stepped a few feet away to Angel's grave. There was a silence between Benny and I until he said,

"Thank you." And then he walked slowly away. That was so much harder to do than I ever thought. To forgive someone. To admit that maybe I went too far. That maybe I was wrong, too. I sighed deeply and felt a hand on my shoulder.

"See? It doesn't have to be negative." Collins said, smiling broadly. I grinned back at him. A few minutes later he said, "Lets go. We have a celebration to plan."

"Maybe, uh- Maybe we should invite Benny." I suggested and Collins laughed and pulled me into a headlock.

"You've learned well, young one." We laughed and headed back home.

**(Amy's Perspective)**

The party in the loft that night was bittersweet for the family they'd created and invited me to be a part of. Collins, Roger, Mark, and I were all there, of course. Mo and Jo showed up, too, as in love as ever. A few other friends from the old days -including Benny, at Roger's request- came as well when word got out that Collins was back in town. It was a total blast, sharing stories of all kinds- the good, the bad, the unforgettable. There was an exuberance, a joy, a… love of life that enveloped everything.

I say that it was bittersweet because a lot of stories had a strange way of making people realize the loss of those who weren't there- Angel, Mimi, Gordon, and Sue, among others. After every story there was a brief moment of silence, followed by another example of life ruling over all. The very fact that we could all still celebrate showed that. I had my camera out all night, filming those moments, those expressions of life.

Now I see it- my film. This is only the beginning.

**(Mark's Perspective)**

"Amy- uh-" I started to say the next morning, but stopped suddenly and looked away. I didn't know how to ask. Or if I should ask. Or if it was ok to ask. I don't want to ruin this amazing place our relationship has been in lately, but at the same time, I feel that a few things are unresolved.

"What's up?" She asked, placing her camera gently onto the coffee table. She'd been filming the apartment, and me, at random for most of the morning.

"Um…" I sighed out deeply, searching for the words. "I think that maybe we should talk about what happened. With the miscarriage. And… everything." She visibly flinched.

"Ok." She said quietly.

"Will you tell me who it was?"

"What?" She asked, nervous, uncertain.

"I… want to know who it was. But I understand if you'd rather not say." I said, knowing that technically it wasn't my business. I was going crazy wondering all the same.

"Are you sure?" She asked, one hand playing absently with the frayed fabric of the couch cushion.

"Yeah." I told her.

She stared, intently, down at the worn floor before quietly saying, "Connor."

"Connor? It was _Connor_?" I asked, completely freaked out. I had tried so hard not to think about it, not to wonder, not to be jealous, but now- Connor?

Why the hell did I ask? Why did I bring it up? I don't want to know this. I wish I didn't know this.

My hands were gripping my knees and I leaned forward, trying to stop all the emotions her admission provoked.

"Mark, I- I'm sorry." Amy said, lightly touching my arm. I didn't pull away from her, but I couldn't look at her, either. 'It was before me. Before _us_.' I kept telling myself over and over. "Mark?" Amy asked.

"I'm gonna need a minute, ok?" I told her as evenly as I could.

"Yeah. Ok." She said, turning away from me. I could sense her shoulders sag, and heard the first ragged sound of her trying to hold in a sob.

"No, no, Amy, don't." I said, forgetting about myself and turning to rub her back with my palm. I felt her sob sharply. "It's not, I'm just- I know I shouldn't be mad. I'm trying not to be mad, that's all. Ok? All right?" She didn't answer. "Amy, please, I'm trying really hard." I said, feeling helpless. What do I do? What do I do to show her that it's ok, that what happened before me is none of my business? I can't not be affected by it, but how do I show her that it's not her that's making me upset?

She suddenly turned and flung her arms around me, her tears pressing from her face and onto mine.

"If I'd known," She sobbed, "If I'd known, I never would have. There's no comparison. I don't have feelings for him. _Know_ that. Please. I just wanted to be wanted. That's all." She sobbed, pulling me closer. "That's all." Oh, God, this must have been eating away at her. I need to make this stop, to make it better. God, how do I show her how much I love her?

"Shh, baby, shh." I said, feeling like a jackass worrying about _my_ inner demons while she's been battling her own. "Honey, I know. I'm not mad. Don't be upset. I love you. You know that, right?" She nodded and pulled back slightly in order to look into my eyes.

"I love you."

"Then there's no problem. Right?" I asked.

"…Right." Pause. She looked at me for a long moment, seeming to debate something. "Mark?"

"What, honey?" I felt so protective just then. I wiped the tears from her face and she bit her bottom lip.

"Be with me, ok?" She whispered, staring into my eyes. We haven't slept together since before the miscarriage. I paused, staring back at her, unsure.

"Um-" I started to say, but she cut me off and looked away, saying,

"We don't- Never mind. I'm sorry." She started to stand up, but I held her there.

"No, Amy, don't. I just want to make sure. I miss you, I miss… that. But I don't want to rush you. That's all… _That's_ all." I told her, hoping she would understand. There was another pause.

"Be with me." She repeated. I leaned towards her and kissed her gently.


	13. The Pancake Business

-1My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Do You Think I Can Tell People About Your Eyes?**

**(Amy's Perspective)**

"I am in hell." Mark groaned to me on the phone. They're doing road construction on the street outside our apartment building and it's ridiculously noisy.

"So leave, you idiot. Go film or something. Or, hey- come meet me for lunch." I said, thinking that it would be fun.

"I can't. I promised I'd meet Maureen to help her with her protest." Mark said.

"Just don't let her practice it for you." I warned. I wouldn't say that I'm a particularly jealous person, and certainly not when it comes to Mark and Maureen, but I still don't like the idea of her being topless in front of him.

"Don't worry," Mark laughed, "she cut that part, anyway. She decided that it didn't 'promote the idea of unity within the masses' like she originally thought."

"Please don't tell me that those were her exact words." I asked, cracking up.

"Direct quote." He told me.

"Oh, God." I said, laughing, then groaned, seeing Connor coming towards me. "Oh, shit, I gotta go. See you tonight?"

"Yeah. I love you." Mark said.

"I love you, too. Have fun." I hung up the phone. Connor was standing in front of me, his arms folded.

"How cute." He said, referring to my conversation with Mark. "Are you his girlfriend or his mother?"

"You know what, Connor? I'd really appreciate it if you keep our conversations work-related, ok? Leave my personal life out of it." I said, annoyed. He's been such a jerk lately. What was I thinking _ever_ getting involved with him? Connor leaned down so that his palms were resting on my desk.

"You _made_ me part of your personal life, darlin." He hissed. "Or am I _that_ forgettable?"

"I _really_ don't think you want me to answer that." I retorted with a sickly-sweet smile. Connor's mouth tightened but then he forced himself to smile back.

"Let's go out tomorrow." He said suddenly. What? He's out of his mind. Completely and utterly out of his mind.

"You know that I'm going to say no, so why even ask?" I asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Hey, you said yes to my charms once." Connor said with a smug smile.

"And I can't believe I was ever that desperate." I shot back. His jaw clenched.

"I'd be careful about how you speak to me, Amy." He said, pissed off.

"The same to you. You know that this could be considered sexual harassment, right? Back off, Connor." I said. He shook his head slightly. "It was a mistake. An accident. Ok? So back off. I never wanted to be with you." I hated having to be so blunt with him, but guys like Connor won't understand it any other way.

He stared down at the desk for a second and I froze, wondering if I'd gone too far. He actually looked… upset? For a second I felt horrible, until he glared up at me and laughed harshly.

"Go ahead. Have the last word. You're a woman. It's your… right." He said through clenched teeth. His expression was a weird mixture of anger and pain and… I don't know what else. I chose not to let him know that by saying anything _he_ had just had the last word, because the way he said that freaked the hell out of me. I refused to let it show until he'd walked away. I took a few deep breaths, then picked up the phone and called the loft again.

"Mark? It's me, don't screen." I told the answering machine.

"Hey, Amy, it's Roger. What's up?" I heard Roger ask.

"Um, is Mark there still, or did he leave?"

"Yeah, he went up to the roof. Let me go grab- nope, he just walked back in. Here you go." I heard him say "It's Amy." and then Mark's voice came on the line.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Hey. Do you want to meet me here when I get off of work? We could grab dinner or something."

"Yeah, sure. What time?" Mark asked.

"How about you meet me in the lobby around five?" I asked.

"Sure thing. I can swing over after I'm done at Maureen's." Mark said.

"Great. Well, I should get back to work. See you later. I love you." I told him.

"I love you." Mark said back and we hung up. I cleared my desk off and grabbed the film I was working on, heading for the editing room. Mark would have pitched a fit if I'd told him the real reason I wanted him to meet me. I didn't even know if there _was_ a reason to meet me. I was probably making a bigger deal out of it than I should have.

It was nothing. It was just weird. Right?

**(Roger's Perspective)**

All right… I would have never considered myself a 'dance-around-the-apartment-like-an-idiot' type of guy, but this afternoon I found myself doing just that. I was only …_slightly_ concerned that Collins would wake up and see me. Whatever. He'd probably dance, too.

I paused suddenly, wondering how the hell he was able to sleep through all the noise of the construction outside, then resumed my white-man dance.

Man, I was in such a good mood. Collins is back, I was up half the night writing music, I actually like my job, Maureen has reverted back to Mark to help her with protests, Amy made pancakes this morning and there are a ton left over in the fridge for cold consumption later, my favorite t-shirt is clean and on, and- and- well, hell! What else did I really need?

I turned to go to the fridge for a drink only to see Collins standing in the door to our room looking at me with one eyebrow raised.

"Why, good afternoon, Sleeping Beauty. Care to dance?" I asked him, bowing and holding out my hand.

"I thought you'd never ask!" Collins said, his voice high-pitched and feminine. We danced haphazardly around the apartment, circuiting the kitchen, the living room, and, finally ended with me twirling him down the length of the room, laughing our asses off along the way.

We both flopped down onto the couch, breathing deeply and laughing in-between breaths.

"Did you get into my stash?" He asked me jokingly, knowing I'd never just take his pot without clearing it with him first.

"Nope. Natural high, Collins. Plus a little sleep-deprivation." I grinned. "Want something to drink?"

"Sure. Whatever you're getting for yourself." He responded. I got up to go to the kitchen. "Why didn't you sleep?"

"I went up to the roof and wrote the rest of the night. I got off of work and just had this urge, this drive. It was great. Really great. Hey- can I play one of them for you?" I asked, filling two glasses with water and returning to the couch.

"Yeah, man, sure." Collins said, excited simply because I was excited. I set the glasses down and ran to my room to grab my guitar.

"Ok, ready?" I asked, then saw Mark came in. "Hey! Sit down, you've gotta hear this." I told him. He came and sat next to Collins. "This one's called 'But Here We Are'. Feel free to laugh."

**(Mark's Perspective)**

I was stoked to see Roger so excited about what he'd written. He usually keeps things hidden until he's ready to perform them. If Maureen and I hadn't gotten done really early I never would have gotten to hear it before he performed it onstage. Roger sang:

Had a conversation the other day

'Bout all the things I used to say

I said:

I was going places

I said:

I was going soon

I said:

There'd be a sea of faces

I said:

They'd all know my tune

Had a conversation the other day

'Bout all the things you used to say

You said :

You were going places

You said:

You were going soon

You said:

There'd be a sea of faces

You said:

You'd fly higher than the moon

But here we are-

We're still fightin'!

Here we are-

The future is now.

Here we are-

Where are we goin'?

Are we goin'

Farther than here?

Are we goin'

Farther than here?

Will anyone know my song?

Will anyone long to hear?

Will anyone sing along?

Will I soon begin to fear-

That this is as far as I'm going

That this is the end of the line

That this as far as I'm going

That I've wasted all this time…

We laughed the other day

'Bout all the things we used to say

We said:

We thought we held all the aces

We said:

We were naïve and lewd

We said:

We had innocent faces

We said:

We didn't know we were… screwed

But here we are-

We're still fightin'!

Here we are-

The future is now.

Here we are-

Where are we goin'?

Are we goin'

Farther than here?

Are we goin'

Farther than here?

To tell the truth,

I've had a blast just gettin' here…

His song was awesome. It was a light-hearted rock song that… poked fun at his young naivety and expressed his confusion about if he'll make it and was just… happy. Roger wrote a happy song.

I laughed really hard on 'We didn't know we were… screwed' partly because he stopped playing the guitar and spoke 'screwed', and partly because of the expression on his face when he said it. It was great.

"All right, so when are you performing it?" Collins asked with a huge grin on his face.

"I don't know. I need some more songs first." Roger said, happy that we liked his song.

"Well get crackin'." Collins told him. "It was really good." Roger set his guitar down and hopped up, smiling.

"Who wants pancakes?" He asked.

"I do!" Collins cried out. I checked my watch.

"Not me. I'll be back later, ok? I'm going to meet Amy."

"All right. Have fun." Roger said, flinging a pancake at the back of Collins' head.

"Hey!" Collins jumped up and grabbed the pancake, whipping it back at Roger. I watched them goofing around for a second, hid the maple syrup on them, then left, wanting to make sure I got over to Buzzline on time.

-------------------------------

"Hey." I smiled, greeting Amy. She kissed me on the lips, then slipped her arm through mine.

"Thanks for meeting me." She said.

"No problem. Shall we?" I asked, glad we could spend some time together away from the rest of the group. Since Collins has been back we're almost always together, which isn't a bad thing at all… it's just that I really like being with only Amy.

"Sure." We went down the elevator mostly in silence, especially since we weren't the only people _in_ the elevator. Once outside, Amy said, "So… where are we going?"

"Anywhere but the loft. I'm pretty sure we'll find it decorated with pancake if we go back there any time soon." I grinned.

"I'm not even gonna ask." Amy said, shaking her head.

"That's probably for the best." I laughed, thinking of the last time that Roger and Collins got into a food fight. Even _I _ got involved in that one. Mostly out of revenge. The day before they'd filled my shoes with pudding. Perfectly good pudding! That's just wasteful.

"Chinese?" Amy asked.

"Sure."

**(Roger's Perspective)**

Amy stormed into the loft the next day while we were all tinkering with our individual projects- Mark working on a film, Collins on an essay, and myself on a song- fuming like I've never see anyone fume before. Even myself, which is saying a lot for Amy's fuming abilities.

"Whoa, Amy, what is it?" Mark asked, putting his camera down.

"I got fired. They fucking _fired_ me! I- I- I am so pissed off I don't know what to do with myself."

"What? Fired you for what?"

"What else? Apparently I have a very poor work ethic and the quality of my work is _way_ below standard." She spat, even angrier. "That's what my file says, I bet, but the _real_ reason is because yesterday Connor and I had words." She said, grabbing a beer out of the fridge and cracking it open.

"What? You got into a fight with Connor? Why didn't you-" Mark started, but Amy cut him off.

"Oh, we had words. I should have filed a complaint but I didn't and now _I'm_ fired. I'm fired!" She stopped talking and chugged half of her beer.

"Hey, slow down." Mark said to her, but she glared at him for a split second before realizing that she wasn't mad at him.

"I hated that job anyway. Maybe now they'll see that I did all of Connor's work and he'll get taken down a notch or two." Collins and I glanced at each other, both unsure of what to do. Amy chugged the rest of her beer, then choked as she laughed, though the rest of us couldn't figure out why. Seeing our confused looks, she pointed at the ceiling and finally managed to gasp out, "Pancake." The three of us looked up, and, sure enough, there was a pancake stuck to the ceiling.

We all laughed and spent a good portion of the next ten minutes trying to get it _off_ of the ceiling. By the time we were done, Amy had calmed down enough to admit that she was glad she'd been fired.

"Perhaps I'll go into the pancake business." She joked.


	14. So A Holiday It Was

-1-Sorry this is late! I was home this weekend and didn't have a chance to write anything. Hope you like it! Let me know what you think!-

My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Do You Think I Can Tell People About Your Eyes?**

**(Amy's Perspective)**

"Maureen, calm down. It's ok. Did you really think _any_ of this would change?" Joanne asked, taking Maureen by the shoulders to stop her from moving.

"It's just so- ridiculous. And unfair. And I'm pissed."

"Yeah. We know. We caught that part." Collins said dryly from the couch, making all of us, including Maureen, laugh.

Maureen has been zooming around the loft on a rampage for about twenty minutes. The source of her anger was that a bill to legalize homosexual marriage had just been voted down. It was the first of its kind and no one had really known whether it would pass or not. For Maureen and Joanne, as well as so many others, it would have meant a hell of a lot.

We knew that it was important to Collins, too, but he didn't say much about it. We could all sort of tell that he felt it was too late for him. His Angel had died. His reason for wanting that bill passed was no longer an issue.

"It means a lot to me that you're so upset about this. I'm really glad that you feel the same way." Joanne said, then whispered something to Maureen that made her smile.

"Me, too." Maureen said back, and they kissed. I smiled. They've really grown into an amazing couple.

I glanced at Mark, who was making a sandwich in the kitchen. He paused from what he was doing, leaning on the counter and staring at his food. I saw him take a deep breath and close his eyes.

Wondering if he was ok, I started to walk over to him, but he seemed to shake it off. Mark glanced up and looked around for me, then smiled when he saw me. 'You ok?' I mouthed to him. He nodded and smiled at me again, then set about finishing his meal.

"All right. So what are we doing tonight?" Collins asked loudly, changing the focus from Maureen and Joanne to this evening's festivities. Collins had randomly declared today a holiday, but didn't say what the holiday was. None of the rest of us needed a specific reason to celebrate, so we didn't question it much. Collins said it was a holiday, so a holiday it was.

"You guys should all come down to the Kennedy Bar since I have to work. That way I can participate, too." Roger said, playing with the wedding band on his left hand. I looked down at my hands and sighed.

"Sounds good." Mark chirped up, taking a bite of his sandwich. The rest of us agreed, and then I ducked into mine and Mark's room, feeling… I don't know what. Feeling confused.

I knew that if I said anything to anyone, it would be stupid. Really, really stupid. I was mad at myself for even being upset about it. No. I'm not _upset_, I'm just… bummed. Yeah. 'Bummed' is as good a word as any.

I remember Mark saying, when I first me him, that he'd never get married because he thought that it was 'an unnecessary, ridiculous tradition'. I remember thinking that way, too, though I didn't voice it aloud. At the time I couldn't picture myself caring enough about someone to actually want to get married. At the time.

I flopped down on the bed and prepared to take a nap, trying to push it away from me. This is something that I shouldn't even be thinking about. It's stupid. And too soon. And… probably never gonna happen, anyway. So forget about it.

"Hey." Mark said, making me jump. "Whoops, sorry." He sat on the edge of the bed next to me. "I'm going to go film a little. Want to come?"

"Mmm, no. I think I'm gonna take a nap. I have a feeling we'll be out pretty late tonight." I told him.

"Yes, but neither of us have anywhere to be in the morning." He smiled, leaning down to kiss me.

"True." I said after a few moments. He started to sit back up, but then changed his mind and kissed me again. "At this rate you'll never get any filming done." I giggled in his ear when he started kissing my neck.

"That's a shame." He whispered back.

**(Roger's Perspective)**

I left for 'work' when no one but Collins was in the living room so that I could sneak my guitar out without them noticing. He smiled at me and mouthed 'good luck' as I walked out the door.

Collins was the only one who knew that I was playing at the bar tonight. Just me. "Headlining" I guess. If it was possible to headline at a bar. I smiled as I trotted down the stairs, happy that I could surprise them. I've got as long as I want to play, so I'm going to sing eight songs. I went over the order in my head again as I walked towards the bar. _But Here We Are, One Song Glory, Without You, Your Eyes, Beautiful Things, You Mean, Roger's Song, Short Little Song_… Yeah.

_Should_ I end with _Short Little Song_? I guess the order of the songs tells the story, so it fits, but… Is that what I want people to walk away remembering? Yes. Maybe. I don't know. It's stupid. I've changed the order of the songs fifty thousand times.

This is right. It is. It'll be good.

**(Mark's Perspective)**

"Where is he?" I asked as we all crowded around the bar. The place was packed and there was no sign of Roger.

"Maybe he's on break." Amy suggested, sitting down on one of the stools.

"God, I love it here." Maureen said, hugging Joanne, who was sitting beside Amy. "So many people, the noise, ah, it's great." Joanne rolled her eyes as Maureen surveyed the room and we laughed. Maureen is attracted to anything chaotic.

"I think I found your boy." Collins said, pointing to the stage.

"What! He didn't tell us!" Maureen squealed.

"Surprise." Collins told us. I shot him a dirty look for not letting us in on the secret, but then my attention focused on Roger.

"Hey guys, wow it's packed in here." He said into the mic. The place erupted in cheers. Roger laughed. "Well thank you. I'm going to pretend that was for me." Another round of noise hit the room and Roger laughed again and shook his head. "Is it my turn now?" And he imitated a groupie screaming, his arms flailing around in the air. Everyone started cracking up. "All right… Now that _that's_ taken care of… Uh, I've got more time to perform than last time, so I'm going to sing a few old songs and a few new ones. I hope you like them. This first one's called _But Here We Are_. Mark-" his eyes found mine, "this is for you."

I hadn't realized before that it was about the two of us, when we first started living with Collins, our heads full of bright ideas and dreams for the future. When I heard it the first time it didn't register who the other person was, but now it made sense. I laughed again, hearing the song, memories of the two of us flashing through my head.

The crowd cheered and clapped at the end, but Roger quieted everyone down pretty quickly. "Thanks. The next song is entitled _One Song Glory_." By the end of that song everyone was putty in his hands. I saw a few people crying. Roger thrived on it and with the next song, _Without You_, had at least thirty groupies. _Your Eyes_ solidified him as a god.

I can't explain the mood in that room. So… welcoming and comforting and accepting and… loving. For a bar in the middle of New York City that was a feat. People were hooked on my best friend, on the story he was telling and I couldn't help but grin.

"This is a new one," Roger said, "About how my wife asked me to marry her. I call it _Beautiful Things_."

"Mimi asked him? I didn't know that." Amy whispered to me.

"I didn't, either." I replied, wrapping my arms around her. Roger sang a fast song that reminded me, somehow, of a bluegrass band.

_A little sweet smile _

_On your lips_

_A little sweet skirt_

_Against your hips_

_We're sharing_

_Secrets and dreams_

_We whisper_

_Beautiful things_

_I say_

_I love you, I love you, I love you_

_I do._

_You say_

_You love me, you love me, you love me_

_It's true._

_Oh, it's true…_

_Yes, I love you…_

_We're sharing_

_Secrets and dreams_

_We whisper _

_Beautiful things_

_You want to spend all of our days_

_In such meaningful ways_

_You wanna shout to the sky_

"_Hey, look, this is my guy…"_

_And I'm laughing in bed_

'_Cuz you grinned as you said_

_That I was king_

_That I was everything…_

_We're sharing_

_Secrets and dreams_

_We whisper_

_Beautiful things_

_And I say you're beautiful_

_And I say that I'm complete_

_And I say you're wonderful_

_And then I repeat:_

_I love you, I love you, I love you,_

_I do._

_You say_

_Marry me, marry me, marry me…_

_Will you?_

_I say_

_I love you, I love you, I love you,_

_I do…_

_Oh, it's true…_

_Baby, I love you…_

_And then there's_

_A little sweet smile_

_On your lips_

_And a pretty white dress_

_Surrounds your hips_

_And we say_

"_We do…"_

_I'm gonna spend the rest of my life_

_Loving you…._

"That was the sweetest thing I've ever heard." Amy whispered to me. God, I love her. It made me think of our afternoon, lying in bed together. A little sappy, perhaps, but I was ok with that. I feel like we said 'I love you' to each other about a thousand times this afternoon. And it felt so good every time.

The crowd had laughed and cheered throughout the song, and Roger even blushed on stage at the end. He's so amazing at this. I wish he'd never stopped performing.

Collins was standing on the other side of myself and Amy, leaning back against the bar, the biggest smile I've ever seen on his face. He was so proud of Roger that he was practically beaming.

"Ok. I've got a few more songs if you still want to hear more." There was a resounding 'YES!' from the crowd. "All right then. Here we go. _You Mean_." During _You Mean_ Amy's eyes started to tear up and I kissed her on the cheek. When Roger sang 'you mean love and respect' I whispered that in her ear and she snuggled closer to me.

After _You Mean_ Roger sang the song he wrote for his son, _Roger's Song_ and it was amazing. It was so different from the first time he sang it but still so powerful. It wasn't such a sad struggle this time, though. It was… beautiful in a way that I can't describe. There are no words.

**(Amy's Perspective)**

"This is the last song I've got for tonight. It's title is _Short Little Song_… and… well, that's all I've got to say. Here it is…" Roger said, and began to strum a quick, energetic tune.

_It's a short little song_

_That I'm singin' to you_

_It's a short little song_

_But the story is true…_

_I'm not ashamed to say_

_That I die a little every day_

_No, I'm not afraid to cry_

_I won't tell you lies…_

_It might sound stupid_

_But, _

_I'm okay._

_It might seem crazy_

_But, _

_It's the only way_

_To move on_

_To move on…_

_Every man,_

_Every real man_

_Sometimes_

_Has to cry_

_So many reasons why…_

_There's love_

_There's loss_

_There's moments of joy_

_There's pain_

_There's rain_

_There's my little boy_

_And I'm not ashamed to say_

_That I die a little every day_

_No, I'm not afraid to cry_

_I won't tell you lies!_

_It was a short little song_

_That I sang to you_

_A short little song…_

…_But the story was… _

_True._

A deafening roar encompassed the bar after the song died away. Roger stood on the little stage awash in glory. The best part was that he didn't quite know what to do with himself. He had this bashful look on his face that made it seem like at any second he was going to dash behind the curtain and hide, but he was, at the same time, aware that he had done a tremendous job and that he deserved the applause. It was… amazing.

He had put himself out there in _so_ many ways to a crowd that he wasn't sure would accept him. But he's so engaging as a performer that there's no way not to be drawn in. He's so honest about what he's feeling and it comes across so powerfully when he sings. Roger's voice, the music- whether simple or intricate- his wonderfully simple lyrics… there's no comparison to anything else.

He deserved that deafening roar and so much more.

When he finally fled behind the curtain, we knew from last time that he had probably headed straight home, so we paid our bill and left, picking up some beer, soda, and vodka in order to have drinks at the loft.

**(Roger's Perspective)**

I waited in the living room, grinning silently to myself. I didn't want to toot my own horn, but… tonight went really well. I bit my lip, waiting anxiously for my friends.

And when the door opened my friends exploded inside shouting expletives and praises all rolled up into one, clapping me on the back and hugging me, and were just generally excited as hell.

We spent the rest of the night drinking and playing cards and dancing around the apartment well into the wee hours of the morning. It was the best night I've had in a long time. When I finally fell into bed, tired and tipsy and happy, I slept better than I have in a long, long time.

But not before smiling up to Mimi and Roger and thanking God, if he existed, that I'd had them in my life.

**(Mark's Perspective)**

"Amy?" I asked quietly as we lay in bed that night. "Did you ever think about getting married? When you were younger?"

"Are you kidding? My wedding has already been planned." She responded sleepily.

"What? When?" I asked, surprised. I never thought that she'd have been one of those types of girls who plan their 'perfect' wedding even before finding someone to get married to.

"The day I was born, I think." She responded with a dry laugh.

"I repeat: What?"

"Oh, yeah, didn't you know? About five hundred of my closest friends. Martha's Vineyard. A designer dress." She laughed. "You know. Something low-key." She added sarcastically.

"That's crazy." I said, sort of freaked out by the scale of it.

"That's my mother." Amy paused, then moved closer to me. "I think it's crap, though. If she wants to put that together she's going to have to adopt a child because I refuse." Oh, thank God. If Amy would have been ok with a wedding like that I don't think I could handle it. It should be small, intimate. Only the closest friends and family. That would be nice.

"Yeah?" I asked, lacing my fingers through hers.

"Yeah. Marriage is a joke. You can't institutionalize love. Marriage turns into a contract between you and the other person and the government. Who the fuck wants that?" She said, and I laughed quietly and agreed, saying,

"Yeah." Inside, though, my stomach had turned to ice. She doesn't want to get married? Marriage is a _contract_?

"But… I don't know. I think it really sucks that some people who _do_ want to get married can't at all. That gays and lesbians go unrecognized in that regard. It's a load of shit."

"Yeah." I agreed, this time meaning it.

Amy fell asleep a little while after that, but I lay awake wondering if what she'd said was her way of telling me that if I was thinking about asking her to marry me I could forget it.

And I suddenly wondered if I _had_ been thinking about asking her to marry me.

The truth was that I hadn't just been _thinking_ about it. I'd been planning it.

I guess plans change.


	15. The Topic of the Month

-1My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Do You Think I Could Tell People About Your Eyes?**

**(Amy's Perspective)**

The morning after Roger's show I walked into my bedroom looking for Mark and stopped abruptly, confused as hell.

"Mark?"

"Yes?"

"What the _hell_ are you doing?"

"I was not aware that this required an explanation."

"Uh-huh…."

"What? Doesn't _every_ grown man, on occasion, build a fort?"

"Did you draw out a floor plan? With designated rooms?" I asked, holding up a sketch.

"…Maybe."

"Oooohkay… Well, I was gonna see if you wanted to fool around, but you're clearly doing something more important, so…" I trailed off, waiting for him to stop me.

"Yeah. Maybe some other time." What? He chose a fort over me. _That's_ a good sign. I smiled in amusement.

"All right." And I walked out of the room to see that Collins had put on a jacket and was crouching to tie his shoes. "And where are _you_ off to?" I asked him.

"I am tutoring down at the community center." Collins told me.

"Oh, cool. What time will you be back?"

"Gee, I'm not sure, Mom. But I'll for sure be home by dark." Collins mocked me.

"Ok. Have fun, dear." Collins smiled and headed for the door. "Don't talk to strangers!" He rolled his eyes at me and walked out. "And look both ways before you cross the street!" Pause. I ran to the door as he started down the stairs. "Make good decisions, sweetheart!"

Collins' laughter echoed up through the stairwell.

"Hey- Amy?" Mark called from our room.

"Yes?" I responded, shutting the door.

"Is it too late to change my mind?" He asked, walking into the living room. I smiled.

"I'm sure we could work something out."

**(Roger's Perspective)**

Work the day after my performance was a blast. Mike was happy because he made a ton of money last night, my fellow bartenders were happy because they got a lot of phone numbers, and I was happy because I'd had so much fun up there.

"It could be a regular thing, Davis, if you're interested." He handed me an envelope with three hundred dollars in it.

"Wow. Thanks." I said, surprised. We hadn't talked about me being paid.

"You earned it, kid." His hulking frame intimidates most people, but once you get to know him you realize he's a big softy. "Think about it. Seriously." He said, referring to performing regularly, then he unfolded himself from the stool and headed for his office.

"You should do it, Davis." Adam advised me, looking pretty tired as he finished stocking glasses.

"What'd _you_ do last night?" I asked him.

"Picked up one of your groupies." He grinned, washing his hands. Oh, brother.

"I should have guessed." I said, laughing. Then, "Hey- you're careful, right?"

"What?" He asked, drying his hands on a towel.

"That chick. You've got to be careful, man. Diseases and shit."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." He rolled his eyes.

"No. You don't." I said, kind of annoyed at his flippant attitude about it.

"Yes. I do." Adam told me, completely serious.

"Do you-?" I started to ask, but he shook his head, silencing me from finishing my question.

"My brother. He had AIDS." Adam turned then, and grabbed some napkins from a box. I noted the past tense. _Had_.

"I'm sorry." I said. I felt bad for getting on his case about it.

"It's ok." He paused. "I was kidding, you know. About the groupie. It was my girlfriend. And we're both clean." He smiled. "Gary- my brother- he made me promise to get tested regularly."

"Oh. Good. That's good."

"Yeah." He started wiping up the counter. "Anyways, get to work, you lazy ass. I should be asking you what _you_ did last night." I grinned, resuming what I'd been doing before Mike came out, and said,

"Nothing much. Played some cards, had a few drinks." I coughed into my sleeve. "Nothing major."

**(Mark's Perspective)**

"Hey- Collins?" I asked furtively a few days later. He and I were the only ones at the loft.

"Yes?" He asked, marking his place in the book he was reading with his finger.

"What do you think about marriage?"

"Ah. The topic of the month." He said, dog-earing his page and closing the book.

"Huh?" I asked.

"Never mind." Pause. "Why do you ask?"

"Well- I don't know." I don't know how to talk about this without seeming like… an idiot.

"Come on." Collins said, waiting.

"Amy thinks marriage is a joke." I said, deciding just to be honest about it. No sense beating around the bush.

"How so?" He asked.

"I don't know. She called it 'institutionalized love' and a 'contract with the government' or something. She thinks it's stupid." I told him.

"And you don't?" He asked.

"Not necessarily. I think maybe I used to. But now…" I trailed off, unsure.

"Now you've met Amy."

"Yeah." I nodded. There was a slight pause.

"Interesting how meeting that one person can change everything, isn't it?" Collins asked.

"It's pretty sucky, if you ask me." I retorted.

"But wonderful, too." He added, laughing.

"Yeah." I agreed.

"Ever think that maybe she said that stuff because that's how she thought _you_ felt?" Collins threw at me.

"What? No way." I said, surprised he'd even think that.

"No?"

"Amy has her own thoughts and opinions. I don't think mine would ever influence her like that."

"You'd be surprised what people will do when they love someone." Pause. It was like he was saying 'Think about _that_, why don't you?' Collins opened his book again. Discussion over.

**(Roger's Perspective)**

'Yeah, _definitely_ up too late last night.' I thought to myself, quietly easing the door to the loft open since I didn't hear anyone inside. I'm so grateful that I don't have to work tomorrow. I'm going to have to start calling myself 'old man' pretty soon.

After brushing my teeth, I fell into bed without even changing, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes and who knows what else hovering about me. I sneezed once, prayed I hadn't woken Collins up, and was almost instantly asleep.

------------------------

"Hey, Mark, listen to this." I said, grinning. I wrote a song I think he'll really like. It's about him and Amy.

"Oh, I can't right now, Rog., sorry. I'm meeting Amy at the library. How about when I come back?" Mark asked, picking up his jacket.

"Oh. Yeah. Sure. See you." I said, setting my guitar next to me.

"'Bye!" And he was gone. I took a deep breath and glanced around the apartment. Everyone was gone. I tapped my songbook with my pencil, wondering what to do. I wonder when Collins is coming home. I looked at the clock. Two-thirty. Probably not for a while.

Wow. I have nothing to do.

**(Amy's Perspective)**

"Collins?" I asked him. Roger and Mark had just gone to pick up some dinner.

"Yes?" He asked in a silly voice. I looked over at him and smiled. He's so goofy sometimes.

"Do you remember what we talked about the other day?" I asked him.

"Porcupines?" He asked.

"Nope." Though we _had_ talked about porcupines. "The other thing."

"Expanding your pancake business to include waffles?" He asked, grinning. I laughed, having forgotten that conversation. We have such random conversations together while Mark and Roger are asleep in the morning. The topic today was Kamikaze Laundromats. I can't even _begin_ to explain that one.

"Wrong again. The _other_ thing." I broke down the other morning and asked him what he thought about the whole 'marriage' idea. I told him what Mark had said all those months ago and how I was confused about where he stood on the idea now.

"Ah. Ok. What's up?" Collins asked, getting a little more serious.

"I thought about what you said- about the possibility of him having changed his mind since he said all that stuff- and I don't think he has. I mean, he agreed with the things I said the other night. If he didn't feel the same way, he would have said something, right?" I waited for Collins to say something, but he didn't. I continued, "So I don't know what to do. I mean, I'm not saying that I want to get married tomorrow. We're both still young. But… I'd like to know that it's a _possibility_, you know? Do you think it's a possibility? In the future? At some point?"

"I think you should talk to Mark about it." Collins said.

"I can't. I don't want to freak him out." I said, shaking my head.

"I _really_ think you should talk to Mark about it." Collins repeated. We were interrupted then because Mark and Roger walked in with the food. I know I should talk to Mark about it. I know I should. It's just so hard. I don't want it to end up that I'm farther along in this relationship than he is. I mean, that could cause some serious issues. Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. I mean, it's only been a few months. But I've been in love with him for so much longer than that. I'm _so_ in love with him.

"Hey." Mark said when Collins and I walked over to the table, where he and Roger were organizing the food. "You look really beautiful." He told me, and kissed my cheek. I smiled. I hadn't done anything special.

"Thanks." I said, hugging him from the side as he handed some rice to Collins.

"You're also impeding the process." He laughed, but I didn't let go right away, entertained by the way he had to reach around me to pass things to the guys.

"Enough lovey-dovey baloney, kids." Roger said. "_Some_ of us are trying to eat." We laughed and sat down at our respective seats.

I was surprised a few times during dinner to see Roger shoot me a couple weird looks. I couldn't tell if he was being serious or not.

After dinner he was fine with me, so I dismissed it. I'm a girl. I misinterpret things.

-----------------------------------------------------------

_Hey guys! I just wanted to say thanks for reading this and that I hope you liked it! And if you _are_ reading my stories, please review! I hate soliciting reviews, but when I get reviews it's total motivation to write more chapters, you know? So- review! Good, bad, whatever- I want to hear feedback! Ok. Enough of that. _

_My spring break is this coming week, so I'll have exorbitant amounts of leisure time with which to write more chapters… assuming you all want to read them. _

_Thanks for reading this!_

_-Morgan_


	16. Hildegard

-1My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Do You Think I Can Tell People About Your Eyes?**

**(Amy's Perspective)**

"Hey. Where have you guys been?" I asked as Roger, Collins, and Mark trouped into the loft at one in the morning, laughing and clearly drunk.

"At the Kennedy Bar. You were supposed to meet us. Why didn't you meet us over there?" Mark asked, flopping down onto the couch next to me. He smelled like beer and cigarettes.

"I didn't know you guys were there." I said, bummed that I'd missed it.

"Roger left you a note." Collins chastised me, sinking onto the couch and putting his feet up on the coffee table.

"Where?" I asked. I'd checked for a message when no one was home and didn't find anything.

"Right here." Roger said, making a show of picking up a piece of paper from the kitchen table.

"How the heck did I miss that?" I wondered, surprised.

"It's ok." Mark said very seriously to me. "We brought the festivities to you." He grinned and pulled a bottle of vodka out of his coat. I laughed. He's so drunk.

"What else you got in there?" I asked him.

"Coke." And he pulled out a two-liter of coke.

"Anything else?" I asked, amused.

"Let me see…" He said, rummaging around inside his coat. Roger and Collins were grinning widely but trying to hide it. "I know it's in here somewhere…" Roger and Collins began to openly laugh while he searched. "Aha!" And Mark pulled out a rather large garden gnome. Collins and Roger were laughing so hard they were crying and Mark did his best to keep a straight face, as though procuring garden gnomes from one's coat was the most natural thing in the world, but he, too, started cracking up.

"Where the _hell_ did you get this?" I asked, examining it.

"We found it." Collins laughed.

"We named it Hildegard." Roger added. I looked from one drunken face to the next, laughing as each was progressively more drunk than the last.

"Ok." Mark said, "Do you want vodka or rum?" He picked up my glass of water and downed it, then scowled at the glass. "Aw, damn, I thought that was vodka." He said quietly.

"I'll go with vodka, since that's all we've got." I told him, laughing. I can't believe I'm the only sober one here. This has got to be fixed.

"No, we've got rum, too!" Mark said, excited, and he pulled a bottle of rum out of Collins' coat pocket.

"Hey! I was saving that!" Collins protested.

"Yeah. For _Amy_." Roger told him.

"Oh. Then go ahead." Collins said, re-settling himself on the couch.

"Hey-" Mark said, looking around. "Where'd Benny go?" Oh, God, Benny was with them?

Roger started laughing so hard that we all stared at him. Eventually, he gasped out,

"…He…" laughter, "said he…" Roger gasped for breath, "was going to-" a fresh burst of laughter caused tears to once again stream down his face, "…stand in for Hildegard!" And Roger mimicked the same pose as Hildegard and fell off of his chair laughing. Mark, Collins, and I, likewise, were dying of laughter, picturing Benny drunkenly attempting to take the place of a garden gnome.

"Oh my God." I laughed, shaking my head. I poured myself a rum and coke, thinking 'If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.'

**(Roger's Perspective**

Ok. There's no denying it anymore. I glanced at my watch for the fiftieth time. Mark's over two hours late. He's not coming.

_He's_ the one who promised Maureen we'd help her paint the stage at the Space. _He_ did. And yet here I am, getting green and blue paint all over myself while Maureen sings Phil Collins' _Greatest Hits_.

The fact that I have a raging hangover isn't helping the situation much.

When I got up and Mark wasn't at the loft I assumed that he'd all ready left to go paint, so I'd quickly changed and headed over here, pounding headache and all, only to discover that _Maureen_ wasn't even here yet.

The only good part about it was that I'd sprawled out on the stage and gotten an extra fifteen minutes of sleep before Maureen had shown up.

"Ugh, I should _not_ have had so much to drink last night." I grumbled, finishing up my section of the stage. "Hey- we're only doing one coat, right?"

"Yup!" Maureen chirped. "I'm done, are you?" God, she's only ever this annoying when I'm hung over.

"Yeah." I dropped my brush onto a piece of newspaper. "See you later."

"Thanks Roger! It looks great!" Maureen called as I walked slowly away.

I am so glad I don't have to work today.

I am so gonna kill Mark for ditching me.

I am so never drinking with Benny again. Clearly Collins and I had forgotten what it was like to go out drinking with Benjamin Coffin III. Mark should have warned us.

When I got home I nodded at Collins, who was lying on the couch reading, and slid back into bed, promptly falling asleep.

------------------------

When I woke up it was late afternoon and something smelled like heaven. I got up and got dressed, then went into the main room to find Amy cooking dinner.

"Hey." I said. Amy looked at me and tried to suppress a grin.

"Hey."

"What?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Your hair. And face." She smiled. I reached my hands up and felt a wild tangle of mess surrounding my head. Ah, well.

"What'd _you_ do today?" I asked, sitting down at the table.

"Mark and I went to the moving image museum. It was really amazing." She said. I got up for a glass of water. "How about you? Spray-paint any walls?"

"Close. I helped Maureen paint the stage." I told Amy.

"Oh, shit! That was today! I completely forgot." Amy said, stirring something in a pot.

"Yeah, well, whatever."

**(Amy's Perspective)**

I was only slightly taken aback by Roger's tone of voice. It seems like he's been getting randomly pissed off a lot lately. I don't know if it's work, or the fall, or some weird form of male PMS or what.

"I'm making dinner. Do you like Chicken Carbonara?" I asked him, knowing full well that it's his favorite meal.

"No, I don't." He said snippily. "I've got to go. I'm gonna take a shower." He went into the bathroom, shutting the door a little more forcefully than was completely necessary.

"Oohkay." I said, then frowned and turned back to the stove, stirring the spaghetti and sauce into the chicken. Mark said Roger loved Chicken Carbonara.

I heard the water start in the shower and wondered what was bothering him. This last week has been like Russian Roulette ith him. Half of the time he's fine and half of the time he's pissed about something. I never know which one I'm going to get.

Which was why I was making what Mark had said was Roger's favorite food for dinner. To try and cheer him up again. Clearly it's not going to work.

Dinner was almost ready when Collins and Mark walked in together.

"Smells good." Collins said, smiling. He dropped his stuff off in his room and came back to the kitchen to help Mark get out plates and silverware.

"Is Roger in the shower?" Mark asked.

"Yeah. He's got to work." I told him. The three of us sat down to have dinner, laughing and joking around at Mark's last _attempt_ to cook dinner, which had resulted in the melting of a cutting board in the oven. The loft still smells faintly of burning plastic.

"Hey!" Mark said when Roger came out of the bathroom, "Do you have time for dinner? It's really good." I smiled, glad he liked it.

"Nope. I'm late." Roger said cheerfully, disappearing into his room for a few minutes. When emerged, hair still dripping wet, he was freshly clothed and he waved goodbye before leaving.

I feel like a need to hang a gigantic mood ring around his neck to let me know if he's going to be in a bad mood or not. It would really save me a lot of guesswork.

**(Mark's Perspective)**

"Collins, what are you going as for Halloween?" I asked him later that night. Amy and I had been discussing the party the four of us were planning and thought it might be fun to do costumes.

"There are costumes involved now?" He asked. Amy and I nodded. "Hmm. I'm going to have to think about that one." He said, looking up at the ceiling in thought.

"We couldn't come up with anything yet either." Amy said, heading into the kitchen. "Any thoughts for ours?" Collins laughed.

"A bride and groom." He said.

"Collins!" I hissed. I kicked him in the leg and attempted to appear unfazed. Amy choked on some water and spit it into the sink, laughing a little.

"What?" He asked innocently. Before I could say anything he hopped up off of the couch and said, "We'll brainstorm ideas tomorrow. I'm going to go try and clean up the mess that is mine and Roger's room." And he walked quickly into their room. Amy came and sat next to me on the couch.

We watched TV for a few minutes in silence before I stood up.

"Be right back." I said, heading for Collins' room. "Collins?" I asked, poking my head inside his room.

"Yes?" He asked, sorting through a pile of stuff near the closet.

"Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure. What about?" He asked, sitting on the edge of Roger's bed.

"About, uh," I paused, closing the door slightly and lowered my voice, "Amy. And what we talked about last week?" I took a step closer to him.

"Nuh-uh" Collins said, raising his hand up to stop me.

"What? But Collins-"

"No. Stop. Stop right there." He said, getting up and spinning me around. "You two are so stupid."

"What are you doing?" I asked, confused. He grabbed me by the shoulders and marched me out into the living room. "Collins-"

"Talk. _To each other._" He said, placing me back on the couch and fairly running back into his room. Amy and I exchanged a few confused glances without saying anything. "I don't hear talking!" Collins yelled from his room. Amy and I laughed.

"What was that about?" She asked, nervously rubbing her hands together.

"No idea." I returned, trying to look anywhere but at her.

"Right."

"Oh, this is ridiculous." We heard Collins say, coming back out of his room. "You two are hopeless. She loves you, you love her, you _both_ want to get married." He paused, looking back and forth between the two of us. "Discuss." And he casually walked back into his room.


	17. Knock

-1_Hey guys! I'm kind of ticked off at right now on account of all the bugs/glitches/what-have-you of the past couple weeks. The reason? I got home at about 2 in the morning Saturday night and stayed up 'til four in order to get this chapter in for you guys, and then the site wouldn't let me post it! What the heck's that all about? I could have gone to bed! _

_Ah, well. At any rate, I wrote this in due time, and for reasons beyond my control couldn't post it. I hope you like it! I'm rather proud of this chapter. Let me know what you think!_

_-Morgan_

_P.s.- It's tech week for the show that I'm in here at school, so I don't think I'll be able to post more chapters for either of my stories this week/weekend… But don't quote me on that. _

My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Do You Think I Can Tell People About Your Eyes?**

**(Amy's Perspective) **_-Continued from last chapter-_

"You- you do?" I asked, my face burning red. I felt like a bolt of lightening had just traveled down the length of my spine. He did? My mouth had gone completely dry and I licked my lips nervously.

It seemed like I waited an eternity for an answer.

"Yes." Came his reply, barely more than a whisper. Maybe _his_ mouth had gone dry, too.

"Yes?" I asked, wanting to make sure, to be certain.

"Yes." His eyes looked deeply into mine.

"Then why the _hell_ didn't you say so?" I asked, smacking Mark's arm, relief swimming through me in great currents.

"Wow. Way to ruin the moment." He joked, rubbing his arm.

"And yet you expect nothing less from me." I smiled. He smiled. "Mark-" I said, my hands resting on the back of his neck. "-will you marry me?" I asked, nervous, pulling him slightly closer to me, feeling his silky hair tickling the backs of my hands.

"Yes." He breathed, kissing me, unashamed that I had asked him, both of us just happy that the question had been asked and answered.

Laughing, we fell back on the couch. I was happier than I've ever been. Giddy. Excited.

"Collins?" I called suddenly, and Mark grinned and pointed to himself.

"_Mark._" He said, laughing.

"Yes?" Collins asked, smiling widely, peeking his head around the door.

"You're a rat and I love you." I said, grinning like an idiot. Mark and I jumped up and Collins hugged us both, saying,

"It's about damn time."

"Let's go celebrate." Mark said. "At the Kennedy Bar. We can tell Roger."

"And call Mo and Jo and have them meet us. We can tell them all." I added, as Mark pulled me in for a kiss. "I love you." I whispered.

"I love you." He whispered back. Collins danced to the phone and called the ladies and we left, happy and excited and in love and… that's all we needed to be."

**(Mark's Perspective)**

I could barely contain my emotions as we walked to the bar. All of the confusion and frustration of the past few weeks is _gone_. I've still got questions, I'm just too excited to care. I was so worried- but it's ok now.

Her hand feels perfect in mine.

When we got to the bar Roger was nowhere in sight, but I figured he had gone into the back to do something. Maureen and Joanne showed up and we all chatted about random topics, still waiting for Roger to appear. Our excitement was catching, though, and soon Joanne and Maureen were bouncing off the walls along with us.

"Hey- Roger's not performing again, is he?" Maureen asked Collins suddenly, and we all looked at the stage expectantly as Collins replied,

"If he is he didn't tell me." We went back to our energetic conversations, catching up on the latest happenings until about five minutes later when Amy gushed (which was odd, and pretty funny, because Amy does _not_ gush),

"Mark and I are engaged!" To which Mo and Jo both gave squeals of pleasure and descended upon us with congratulations and hugs and a few rounds of shots.

We were at the bar pretty late celebrating. I didn't drink very much, though. I want to remember this night.

I went to bed so in love with Amy that it hurt… in the best way possible.

**(Roger's Perspective)**

When I got back to the loft around three in the morning I couldn't help but feel like the rebellious teenager I was not all that long ago, trying to sneak into the house late on a school night. The only difference being that when I was a teenager my mom caught me nine times out of ten, and now my friends are all generally asleep when I get in at night.

That's what I was sort of banking on tonight, and they didn't let me down.

I felt kind of bad about saying I had to work tonight when I really didn't have to, but- I don't know. I just couldn't be around tonight. Something told me it was better that way, so I left. Instinct told me to go and instinct told me it was clear to come back.

Now, if you asked me exactly _how_ I'd ended up at Benny's apartment tonight I don't think I would be able to give a clear explanation. I was just walking aimlessly and suddenly found myself there.

It was… weird. The few times we've hung out since our 'day of reckoning' (as Collins dubbed it) have always started out kind of awkwardly, but we end up having a really good time and I remember why we used to hang out with Benny in the first place, before we even lived together. He really is a good guy to have around, as long as money isn't involved. The second you bring money into it, forget it. I can't stand to be around him then. Whatever. We have our differences, but we can still be friends.

At any rate, I was glad to have somewhere to go tonight.

------------------------

"Hey, Mark, check this out. I don't even remember writing this." I said, walking into his and Amy's room the next morning. "Oh, whoops. Sorry."

"It's ok." Mark laughed, and Amy's head reappeared from underneath the blankets. She was laughing, too. I can't believe I just walked in on this. I- Oh my God.

"Sorry. I- sorry." And I back-pedaled out of the room as fast as I could, my face turning bright red in the process. _Knock. _I have to remember to knock.

I turned around to witness Collins laughing his ass off. "You could have warned me." I told him.

"And miss the fun?" He asked innocently, going back to rolling a joint.

"Oh, shut the hell up." I laughed and sat down on the couch next to him, looking at the song I'd found mixed in with some other papers inside my closet. It was crazy.

"Hey, where were you last night?" Collins asked. "We all went to the bar and you weren't there." Shit.

"Oh. I went over to Benny's." I told him.

"Oh." He seemed kind of surprised. Hell, I was surprised myself. "Well, you missed out on a very important evening."

"How so?" I asked.

"It's not my-" Collins began, but stopped short when the door to Mark and Amy's room opened and Mark walked out shirtless and covered in hickeys. Collins and I burst out laughing and Mark, embarrassed, ran for the bathroom. We were still laughing a little when we heard the shower start.

Our laughter started all over again when Amy ran out of their room (clad only in a sheet) and into the bathroom.

"Hey!" Came a surprised yelp from Mark, then laughter. "_Hey._" He said in a _very_ different tone of voice.

"Please let them rip the shower curtain, please let them rip the shower curtain, please let them rip the shower curtain…" I mumbled, crossing my fingers. I've decided that I really do hate that thing. It's way too creepy when I'm drunk. Or when it's early in the morning. Or when I see it _ever_.

"What?" Collins asked.

"Why do you think we needed a new shower curtain in the first place?" I asked Collins suggestively. He looked at the bathroom door in horror.

"Ahh! No! Awww, come on!" He said, covering his eyes with his hands. "I wish I could poke out my mind's eye!" After another bout of laughter, he asked, "So what about this song?"

"Oh." I looked down at the sheet music I still held. "Uh- well, read it." I handed it to him and watched his expression change as he took it in.

"Damn." He said quietly. "You don't remember writing it?"

"No. But it's crazy, isn't it?" I asked. "I mean, it's not just about her anymore. It's about-"

"Mimi." Collins breathed, realizing it. "Wow, Roger." He whistled softly. "This- what's it sound like?"

"I'm kind of scared to play it." I admitted to him.

"I would be, too." Pause. We both looked at each other, then at the song. Collins let out a deep breath and then said, "Mark and Amy got engaged last night."

"They did?" I asked, shocked.

"Yeah." I sensed him smile. I stared down at my music.

"They're going to be really happy together." I said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

"Yeah." Collins said again, looking at my song. "I'm glad it gets to work out for at least one of us." Collins and I looked at each other, sharing similar thoughts. We both lost. We're still losing. We'll die soon.

But Mark and Amy will get to do the things we won't.

"I'm glad he'll have someone when we-" Pause. I couldn't bring myself to say it and Collins couldn't look at me while I tried. He started to light the joint, but then shook out the match. "I'm glad he'll have someone." I finished lamely. I felt tears well up in my eyes and blinked quickly.

"What the hell are we doing sitting around here like lame asses?" Collins asked suddenly, grinning. "We've got lives to lead." He bolted up off of the couch and I followed suit. It's true. We've got a whole lot left to do.

------------------------

"Hey, Roger, I'm going in search of a job. Want to accompany me?" Mark asked cheerfully a few days later. We haven't seen much of each other lately. He hasn't been around much- always out filming or whatever.

"Yeah, man, sure." I said, glad to get out of the house in order to do something _other_ than work. "Where are we headed?"

"Uh…" His head became buried in newspaper as he figured out what he wanted to do. "How about we head uptown and work our way back here?"

"Sounds good." I replied.

"Give me a minute to-" He glanced down at his clothes, "put on another shade of 'mess'?" I laughed and told him to go ahead.

Collins and Amy were both gone; doing what, I wasn't sure. Collins has been kind of vacant lately. Well, no. Not 'vacant'. Just… doing his own thing. Which, I guess, he's always done. He's just not talking much about his tutoring or anything. I don't know. Maybe there's not much to tell. Either way, I'm still happy as hell that he's here.

I headed into my room to look for a tape that I think fell behind my bed last week, but had a sudden sneezing fit as I bent down. It took me by such surprise that I smacked my head on the table next to my bed.

"Wow." I said, shaking my head and blinking while waiting for my nose to clear. Then I laughed. "The things I will do for music." I gave my head one final shake and bent down again in search of the tape. I heard the door to the loft burst open.

"Mark? Mark!" Amy called.

"What's up?"

"My film! Mark- they bought it. They _love_ it. Mark- they want to see more footage." Amy said all in a rush.

"Who? They who?" Mark asked.

"Up In Arms. I can't believe it-" Amy said. "And I told them about you and they want to meet with you."

"_What_?" Mark asked. "Up In Arms wants to meet with _me_?" He was shocked.

"Mark. This could be it. You know? This could be _it_." Amy said, hopeful.

"Oh my God." There was an excited silence between them. "When?"

"In an hour." She told him.

"Holy shit. Ok. Yeah." Mark ran back into his room and I heard some stuff getting thrown around. "Get my reels from the cabinet, will you?" He called to her. I heard some more noise and then, "Let's go." And they were out the door.

I sat down on my bed, idly flipping the tape around in my hands. I hope it goes well. I really do. It's a great opportunity.

I was pissed off and lying, and I knew it.

**(Mark's Perspective) **

"Hey, guys, it's Mark. Roger- sorry for skipping out on you earlier. How about meeting at the Life for dinner? I'm buying. Say five-thirty? See you two then!" I said into our machine. I turned to Amy after hanging up the phone. "I'll meet you there, ok? There are a couple of things I should do."

"Ok, sure." She kissed me. "I love you."

"I love you." And we parted for the time being.

I was beaming. Just… ecstatic. I can't believe they wanted my film. I can't believe this is all happening.

Everything is falling into place. It's… wow.

I stopped at the bank and then continued on my errand, grinning like an idiot the whole time.

**(Amy's Perspective)**

When I got to the Life, Roger was all ready there. "Hey!" I said, surprising him. I smiled as I sat down.

"Oh. Hey." Roger responded. Uh-oh. Clearly in a bad mood.

"Where's Collins?" I asked lightly.

"He couldn't make it but he said he might swing by on his way home and see if we're still here." Roger said, glancing at his watch.

"Oh, ok." Pause. "It's been such a crazy day." I added, laughing.

"Yeah?" He asked, though he didn't sound very interested.

"Yeah." I was determined not to be brought down by him. "Mark and I both sold films today." I told him, grinning.

"Really? Nice." He actually sounded sincere.

"Yeah. And it's great because we get to retain the rights. And they're letting us be in on any editing they do." Man, it gets better every time I think about it. "_And_ they're paying for any time we spend helping them edit."

"That's great." Roger said. Ok. Back to sullen Roger, apparently.

"I'm really happy about it. Up In Arms is a big deal company that actually has integrity."

"Up In Arms?" Roger asked disdainfully.

"Yeah."

"What kind of a name is that?" He said, unimpressed. I took a slow breath, trying not to let his attitude phase me.

"It's a film joke." I explained. "Like the arm of the camera? 'Up in arms' like… using your camera to fight. It's-"

"Yeah. Great." Roger said. "Where's Mark?" Ok, wow. That was really fucking rude.

"He's on his way." I said icily. I know that I'm the only one he's acting like this around.

There was a long silence between us. Roger kept checking his watch and looking up every time someone came in.

"Roger? Why are you mad at me?" I finally just flat-out asked him. He was so surprised by my question that he choked on his drink. Coughing, he asked,

"What? I'm not mad at you."

"Roger." I said. I didn't buy that for a second.

"What? I'm _not_."

"Then what's the problem?" I asked, not willing to drop it. Something's obviously not right between us.

"There isn't-" He groped for words. "There isn't one."

"I don't believe you." I told him quietly, my voice void of accusation or anger. Roger started coughing again. "Are you ok?" He took another drink of water.

"Yeah." He looked up expectantly, hearing the door, but it wasn't Mark coming in. I noticed that Roger was sweating a little.

"Roger, seriously. Are you feeling ok?"

"I'm fine." He said, finally looking at me. "Do you want to get out of here? He's half an hour late."

"He's on his way." I said, not budging.

"Fine." Roger said unhappily.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. I wasn't sure what to say or what to ask. I wish he would just tell me.

"I don't-" Roger spoke suddenly, then stopped. He licked his lips. "I don't think I ever forgave you for what I-" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "For what I _thought_ you did to Mark." He told me.

"What?" I didn't understand.

"I thought you cheated on him. Because of the- baby." I opened my mouth to speak but he kept going, "And I know that you didn't. I know that now. But I never- I'm sorry." That doesn't make sense to me. At all.

"Roger, I-"

"You're not- moving- when you get married, are you?" Roger asked suddenly. What?

"We aren't planning to. I mean, we haven't talked about it." I replied, and suddenly a lot of things clicked into place. He's mad at me because of the time I'm spending with Mark. He thinks I'm going to take Mark away. I think. "Do you want us to?" I asked him, trying to make sure my theory was right.

"No! I- really don't want you to." He said quietly.

"We won't." I told him. Boys are so stupid. "Roger, Mark's not going anywhere." He looked up at me, realizing what I meant. Then he smiled.

"Am I that transparent?" He asked.

"Only to someone who's looking." I smiled back. There was another silence, this time a more comfortable one.

"I know I've been kind of a jerk to you lately." Roger told me eventually.

"You? _No._" I joked.

"It's because- I don't know. Mark's kind of been blowing me off lately. Not on purpose. And not all the time. But, still. He's been blowing me off." Roger explained.

"To be with me." I said, all of this- the way Roger's been treating me- making even more sense.

"Yeah. And I know that it's bound to happen. I mean, you guys love each other. I know how that goes. And I also know that I did the same thing to him when I met Mimi, but… it still sucks. And I guess I've been taking that out on you." He admitted.

"I guess we have been pretty wrapped up in each other, haven't we?" I asked.

"Yeah." Pause. He tried to suppress a grin. "Kudos on the shower curtain, by the way. I'm so fucking glad we can get rid of it." I blushed. Mark and I have now managed to take out two shower curtains.

"Get rid of it? Whatever. Collins said something about turning it into his Halloween costume. Though what the hell he's going as, I have yet to figure out."

I was glad that we were both laughing when Mark walked in.


	18. Ribbons

-1My Respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Do You Think I Can Tell People About Your Eyes?**

**(Amy's Perspective)**

"Amy? Can I help plan the wedding?" Maureen asked hopefully about a week after Mark and I got engaged. "I mean, I know we're not the best of friends, but I'm never going to get to plan my own and it would really mean a lot to me and-"

"Hey, Maureen, it's ok. Yes, you can help. But- you know it's not going to be a big thing, right?" I asked.

"Well, yeah, but who says it can't be fun? And _pretty_?" Maureen asked. I laughed.

"Nobody."

"Exactly. So… I can help?" She asked again.

"Yes. You can help." I told her and she lit up.

"Yes! I'm going to go home and get the stuff I've planned out already. You're going to _love_ it!" She jumped up and headed for the door. "You're ok with animals, right?" She asked over her shoulder. "Oh, of course you are."

"Maureen! Wait!" But she was gone. "Shit." Mark came out of our room laughing silently, grinning as his body shook in amusement. "Shut up." He raised his hands as if to say 'I didn't say a word' and walked into the bathroom.

-------------------------------

"Hey- Amy, come here for a second, would you?" Mark called from the living room.

"Sure, just a sec." I called back. Roger and Collins had already left to go to the Kennedy Bar but Mark and I were still getting ready for the night out. I pulled the zipper up on the only dress I own, a simple black shift that hugs my body, glanced in the mirror, and went to see what he needed. I froze in the doorway and took a surprised breath. "What's going on?" I asked, goose bumps rising on my arms.

Mark was standing in the middle of the living room, which was lit with about a hundred candles, wearing a tux. He smiled at me and held out three white roses.

"For you." He said. God, he looks good in a tux. My eyes darted wildly around the room, taking in a bottle of wine, two wine glasses (where did we get wine glasses? Or, for that matter, _wine_?), and a small tray of food (that looked suspiciously like chunks of cheese on Ritz crackers) sitting on the coffee table.

I took the roses carefully and Mark stepped forward to kiss me lightly. "Mark? What's going on?" I asked again, though my heart had begun to flutter rapidly and my eyes were starting to tear. I couldn't stop smiling.

"Would you like to dance? All I know is the tango, but for you I'm willing to try something else and act like a total fool." He whispered, pulling me close. It was then that I noticed soft music in the background. I laughed a little, feeling his breath against my ear as we began to cautiously circle the apartment.

"We can look like fools together." I smiled. I'm not much of a dancer either. "This is the first time we've ever danced together." I noted.

"But not the last." He said back. We danced slowly for a few minutes, mostly just swaying to the music, before Mark pulled away and kissed me, then led me over to the couch and directed me to sit down. My face hurt from smiling so much, but, if it was at all possible, my smile grew wider when he knelt down on one knee and produced a jewelry box from his pocket.

"Mark- we said no ring." I whispered, ecstatically happy that he'd gotten one anyway.

"I can always take it back-" He began, moving to put the box back in his pocket.

"No! No." I said, feeling like a stereotypical girl and hating it. "Mark." I smiled again.

"Amy, will you marry me?" Mark asked, opening the box. I stared into his eyes and whispered yes and he slipped the ring onto my finger and I hugged him tightly and we fell back against the couch just like we did last time and I smiled and smiled and smiled. "You didn't even look at it." He said after a long while.

"I don't need to."

"_Look_." He said, bringing my hand up. Oh, thank God. He didn't get a diamond. I'd have killed him if he got a diamond.

"Pearls." I breathed, elated. Five pearls around a small, beautiful emerald. He remembered. The ring was identical to the one we'd seen once in a movie. I had said, 'If I can ever afford something like that…' and had trailed off. I remember it because that was the only time I've ever wanted something like that. Something of societal value as ridiculous as jewelry. And he remembered.

"The jeweler said pearls are for tears." Mark said quietly, staring down at my hand. Five pearls. I hated that my mind jumped to the five people those pearls could symbolize, but I couldn't help it.

I looked up into his eyes and whispered, "Tears can be for joy, too." And I proved it, my eyes having welled up in tears of happiness again. He kissed me then, and then kissed my hand, and at the same time we whispered, "I love you."

------------------------

"Did Maureen help you plan this?" I asked later that night as we started to blow out candles. It's become a running joke, wondering what horrors Maureen's going to try and get us to agree to next. So far that list includes (but is by no means limited to): getting married on a hot-air-balloon, going to Vegas, having the ceremony at the Cat Scratch Club, leather bridesmaids dresses, filming the wedding for a documentary on 'love in a fucked-up world', and bungee-jumping off of Brooklyn Bridge after the ceremony. The woman is insane.

"Nope. Roger did." Mark told me.

"He did?" I asked.

"Yeah. Why are you so surprised? Guys can be romantic." Mark said jokingly and I smiled.

"Oh, _sure_." I rolled my eyes, wordlessly happy that Roger had had a part in all of this.

"Hey! Was this or was this _not_ romantic?" Mark asked, putting down the tray of cheese and crackers. "Yeah, that's right." He said when I didn't answer. "I'm romantic."

"You're a regular Don Juan." I agreed dryly, standing in the doorway to our room.

"Thank you." He said, appeased. I laughed and he chased me into our room.

**(Roger's Perspective)**

Collins and I got in pretty late last night (he hung around the bar while I worked), but I was in and out of sleep the rest of the night, finally getting out of bed at about eight in the morning in order to make something hot to drink. All the smoke in the bar every night is really taking its toll on me. I'm a smoker and I can still tell how badly it affects me.

My throat was sore and really clogged. I was still in the process of heating up the water when I decided to go up to the roof and try to cough my throat clear of mucus. I went up there to do it because I didn't want to wake anyone up.

It took a few minutes, but I finally I felt like I could breathe easily again, the tradeoff being that my throat hurt like hell, and I made my way back downstairs.

"And where did you go so early in the morning?" Collins asked me when I went back inside. He handed me a cup of coffee, which I drank gratefully, letting it soothe my throat.

"The roof." I told him. "It's a lovely morning." I joked. He laughed, and then I pretended not to notice him taking in my appearance. "What are you doing today?" I asked him, trying to divert his attention, then taking another drink.

"I plan on being as lazy as I can for as much of the day as possible." He said, smiling.

"Excellent. Good luck with that." I told him, wondering if we have any Tylenol.

"What about you? Care to join me?" He asked.

"Nope. I've got plans. Big ones. Secret, though. _Very_ hush-hush." I told him in confidence, getting excited for what I had going on today.

"Can I have a hint?" Collins asked.

"Absolutely not. And anyways, I've got to take a shower and go or I'll be late." I said, seeing the clock.

"Fine. Go. Be mysterious. See if I care." Collins joked, pretending he didn't want to know, but I could tell he was interested.

"Just wait and see, Collins. Just wait and see." I said, then headed into the bathroom in search of some Tylenol and a shower.

**(Mark's Perspective)**

"Is Roger still out?" I asked Amy late that afternoon. He's been gone all day. Roger's been gone a lot lately.

"He is, but he called and told us to be at the Kennedy Bar at nine. I think he's singing tonight." Amy told me, then motioned for me to be quiet, as Collins was asleep on the couch.

"Oh. Ok. Cool." I said. "Hey, I'm gonna go get some more film so I can tape it tonight if he is singing." I haven't taped many of his performances since he's been doing it again. I've neglected him.

"We just bought film yesterday." Amy said, surprised that I needed more.

"Yes, but I used the majority of that to film our night last night." I told her.

"What?" She asked sharply.

"It was in the corner. It's not my fault you didn't notice." I said. I wanted to have last night on tape. It was special. Something that most people can't live all over again when they're fifty.

"Are you _kidding_ me?" Amy said, pissed off, and suddenly I understood why.

"No! Amy, it's not what you think. It was in the_ living room_. Not the bedroom." I said. I could see relief fly through her.

"Oh. Ok." She said. "_Oh._ That is awesome! Aw, Mark! You taped that? That's awesome!" She's such a girl sometimes.

"Yeah." I laughed and kissed her. "I'll be back."

-------------------------------

"Holy shit." Amy breathed when we entered the Kennedy Bar. Not only was it packed, but there was a table reserved for the five of us. Mike led us to it, having waited for us to come in.

Only when we were seated at the table did we see another table next to the bar that was filled with cassette tapes. There was a poster behind it that said 'Roger Davis' solo album- buy it exclusively at the Kennedy Bar'.

'Holy shit' was right. Roger made a tape. _He made a tape. _

I bought five.

The tracks were listed as:

1. _But Here We Are_

2. _One Song Glory_

3. _Without You_

4. _Your Eyes_

5. _Beautiful Things_

6. _You Mean_

7. _Roger's Song_

8. _Short Little Song_

9_. April_

10. _Best Friends and Dreams_

11. _Ribbons_

I had my camera out and filming way before Roger stepped onto the stage. The number of people, the atmosphere, everything- I need this on film. Roger needs this on film.

And when Roger _did_ step onto that stage- wow. I'm surprised the place didn't explode from noise.

"Hi there." He said into the mic, his voice sounding slightly hoarse. He looked over at our table and smiled, then wiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve. "Tonight's a big night for me. It's been a long time coming, and I'm glad you could all be here to share it with me. Here we go." He coughed once and began to play _Here We Are_ and… I can't describe how proud I was, and we all were, of him. He had to have felt it up there, the energy of the place- it grew more and more with each song.

Roger, however, didn't look so good after a song or two. He was amazing, that didn't change, but I could see him straining and pale and wondered if he was ok. Finally, during _You Mean_ he had such a bad coughing fit that he had to stop the song. "Sorry, guys, I'm a little sick tonight. I think I've only got the voice for a few more, so I'm gonna skip ahead to the new ones, ok? Here goes." Pause and he took a long drink of water. "This song is called April, for a couple of reasons."

This slow, mournful, haunting tune came out of his guitar and I heard Collins inhale sharply next to me. "What's up?" I asked, my camera still trained on Roger.

"He showed me this. It's- wow." Collins replied.

_April's full of rainy days_

_And hope for something more_

_April comes in crazy ways_

_April's dripping on the floor_

_Sunlight and memories_

_Midnights and parties_

_It's too late, I've gotta go_

_Sunrise comes I can't let go_

_April makes me hate the world_

_April makes me cry_

_April comes and goes each year_

_And no one asks just why…_

_There's a rainbow in the sky_

_A casket down below_

_There's a tear within my eye_

_Why's it so hard to let her go?_

_April made me hate myself_

_April made me want to die_

_April came and went that year_

_But for her I could not cry_

_April's full of rainy days_

_And hope for something more_

_April comes in crazy ways_

_Now I've got to shut_

_The door…_

"Oh my God." I said, seeing both April and Mimi in that song. April because of her name, Mimi because she died in April. "Oh my God."

"This song is called _Best Friends and Dreams_ and it's for the people sitting right there." Roger pointed at our table right as Benny sat down with us. I was surprised, but not disappointed, that Roger had invited Benny here tonight, too.

"Hey. Sorry I'm late." Benny whispered.

"No problem." Maureen whispered back.

_Sunlight streamin through the window_

_And laughter fills the air_

_I wake up to beauty_

_I wake up to see you all there_

_I see new and old_

_I see young and bold_

_I see my whole life_

_I see all our strife_

_But I'm smiling in the morning_

_And I'm singing for my soul_

_So I'll keep on doin what I'm doin_

_While I reach to meet my goal_

_My life, everything I've done_

_My days, numbered as they come,_

_My memories, the good, the bad, them all-_

_Help keep me standin straight and tall_

'_Cuz I've done everything_

_The best that I knew how_

_And I've been living_

_Well for a while now_

_I'm livin on best friends and dreams_

_I'm celebrating all the little things_

_I'm livin on best friends and dreams_

_I'm celebrating all the little things_

_The big things_

_The big things_

_My best friend's in love with a beautiful girl_

_And my anarchy man's teachin truth in a crazy world_

_My best drama queen's learning so many things_

_While her corporate girl cheers her on from the wings_

_And my best love-to-hate turned into 'it's not too late'…_

_And I'm smiling in the morning_

_And I'm singing for my soul_

_And I'll keep on doin what I'm doin_

_While I reach to meet my goal_

_My life, everything I've done_

_My days, numbered as they come,_

_My memories, the good, the bad, them all-_

_Help keep me standin straight and tall_

_It's nearing my time to go_

_I don't want to, but I know-_

_This pretty boy front man's slippin (Slippin away) _

_More and more every day…_

_I'm livin on best friends and dreams_

_They're my only meaningful things…_

And before the crowd could respond to that song, he put his guitar down and turned back to the mic and whispered, "Ribbons." And he hummed a long note before he began:

_Words fall like ribbons_

_Some beautiful, some not_

_Words come on ribbons_

_Some forgettable, some not_

_All the words I'm singing_

_(Feels like they'll never stop)_

_I am desperate to tell you_

_As, individually, they drop…_

_That I have loved everything_

_And that my regrets are few_

_As my soul climbs heavenward_

_And my ribbons drop to you_

_My ribbons are never-ending_

_Because my songs belong to you…_

Roger was staring directly into my camera, I thought, when he started this last song, but suddenly I realized that he was staring at me, and shivers raced up and down my spine and I knew that this was the beginning of Roger's saying goodbye to me, to us, to this. And I started to cry as he continued,

…_They'll never stop their flowing_

_And each day they'll start anew…_

_But, for now, please believe me_

_When I say I won't go far_

_For now, please release me_

_I've got to find my star…_

_Mimi is waiting-_

_I made a promise to her, too_

_Oh, Mimi is waiting-_

_It's time for me to go, too…_

_I'm at peace_

_I'm forgiven_

_I'm in love_

_I'm bound for heaven_

_In heaven-_

Roger struggled then, openly struggled, his breath coming in rapid gasps, and he wiped his forehead for the fiftieth time, and I started to put the camera down, realizing that his face had turned an ashen gray right in front of our eyes.

_We'll watch for you_

_And all- the things-_

I shoved the camera roughly into Amy's hands and Collins, Benny, and I rushed towards the stage as fast as we could as Roger dropped to his knees. I got there first, and Roger looked into my eyes as he desperately tried to gasp out the rest of the line:

_-you're- gonna do_

And Roger passed out in my arms, his head burning up, sweat dripping from his temples, while in the background I heard Maureen screaming for someone to call 911.

And I looked up from Roger's unconscious face and into the camera that was still pointed at us… and cried.


	19. It Didn't Mean Glory

-1My respects to Mr. Larson, who created this world and owns the people. Much thanks for letting me borrow them for a while to play in mine.

**Do You Think I Can Tell People About Your Eyes?**

**(Amy's Perspective)**

"Mark, calm down. Mark, it's ok, please-"

"It's not ok, Amy. It's not." Mark said, burying his head in his hands as I tried to soothe him. By the time the rest of us got to the hospital, Mark had worked himself into an agitated mess of worry that I wasn't sure how to handle.

Maureen and Joanne sat nearby, holding fast to each other's hands and not saying much. Benny sat quietly across from us and Collins paced nervously across the room.

Every time a doctor or nurse came into the room Mark jumped up, expecting news, but each time he just sat wearily back down again. We played the waiting game for over an hour before Mark strode resolutely up to the nurse's station and demanded information.

"I'm sorry, but we can't release any information to you, sir." The nurse told him calmly.

"But-" Mark began, but she cut him off.

"It's hospital policy, sir. I'm very sorry."

"Why not?" He asked angrily, frustrated and tired and anxious.

"Unless you're a member of his immediate family we're required, by law, not to give out any details." The nurse responded mechanically.

"But we _are_ his family." Mark said, gesturing to all of us.

"Again, I'm sorry, sir." The nurse responded.

"You're not listening. We _are_ his family. _I_ am his family. Please." Mark pled, and I could see the nurse start to shut him out completely.

"Mark, please sit down. We'll just have to wait." I said, trying to pull him back to the chairs.

"No. _No._" Mark said, pulling away from me. "I need to know what's going on in there. Please. _Please._" He was close to tears.

"Honey, what's your name?" Joanne jumped in, suddenly standing beside us.

"Clara." The nurse told her.

"Clara, I'm Joanne. It's nice to meet you." She shook her hand briskly. "I'm sure that you get people in here all the time trying to get information about patients, and I'm betting that most of them are lawyers, right?" Joanne asked in a good-humored way, and Clara smiled, nodding. "Well, lucky for you, we're _not_ lawyers." She laughed, shooting a look at the rest of us not to say anything to the contrary, "But we _are_ very, very concerned about our friend in there. He means a lot to all of us. And I can't help but think that there has to be some sort of clause that says that you _are_ allowed to give information to roommates or the other member of a common law marriage, right? Somewhere? There's got to be." Joanne said. Clara eventually nodded her agreement. "Well, then we're in luck. These three-" She pointed to Mark, Collins, and myself, "are his roommates. And this-" She gestured to Benny, "Is their landlord. He can vouch for it himself. So will you _please_ tell us what's going on before we go insane?"

Clara paused for a moment, not entirely sure she could trust us, then slowly reached for a file and skimmed it.

"Mr. Davis is in room 223, waiting for a couple of test results to come back." She said. We all breathed a sigh of relief and she looked us over once more, probably seeing what an odd assortment of people we were. Her voice softened when she said, "And every time I go in there he asks for someone named Mark."

"That's me. Can I go? Let me go." Mark cried, springing forward, his eyes searching the nurse's face. His hands were shaking.

"Everyone else will have to wait here." Clara said.

"That's fine." I told her.

"Thank you." Mark said, and Clara led him away.

"Thank you, baby." Maureen said, going to Joanne, who had finally let her guard down and now looked visibly shaken by the events of the past few hours.

I went back to my seat, feeling like any second my stomach might drop out of my body.

_Please let Roger be ok. Please let Roger be ok. Please let Roger be ok. _I begged with every fiber of my being. _If Roger's not ok Mark won't be ok. Please let him be ok._

**(Mark's Perspective)**

I took a few deep breaths to try and calm myself down before I went into Roger's room. This is too sudden, too soon. He was fine yesterday. He was ok.

The thing was, I really didn't know if he _was_ fine yesterday. I feel like I haven't really seen him in weeks. I feel like I've been doing so many other things that I might have missed out on a lot of stuff I promised myself I'd be there for.

Please let this be ok. Please let this be fixable. Please.

The cool metal of the handle felt foreign and horrid against my skin.

Inside, the room was relatively dark, the only light coming from the lamp near Roger's head and the TV built into a shelf on the wall.

Roger's eyes were closed, his face pale- paler than I think I've ever seen it-, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His forehead glistened with sweat.

Those were the facts about what I saw. Those were the truths.

I took in a sharp breath of air as my eyes welled up in tears, hating myself for not being prepared for this. I've imagined this a million times, trying to get myself used to the idea that someday it would be a reality. I've tried to deaden myself to what I knew would eventually come, but I can't. I can't distance myself from this. Roger lying there in that hospital bed is real and no amount of pretending can make it stop being true.

I slipped silently into the chair next to his bed and stared at the TV, images moving rapidly in front of my eyes. 'Deaden yourself' my mind screamed at me. 'Deaden yourself.'

"Do you feel like you haven't watched TV in weeks?" Roger's hoarse voice asked suddenly, and I jumped, seeing his eyes open and staring at the TV set. "_I_ feel like I haven't watched TV in weeks." His voice was almost completely gone. He cleared it every few seconds, sounding pretty congested.

"Are you ok? What did they say?" I asked, ignoring his question. He looked so damn tired and weak that it hurt. Roger isn't supposed to look like that. Roger's not allowed to look like that.

"Where have you been? I've been in here _forever_." Roger said with a small smile, wiping his forehead with a towel. Before I could respond he started coughing violently. Each cough wracked his whole body.

"Roger- should I get someone?" I asked, standing up, unsure of what to do. He shook his head and pointed to the pitcher on the table and I rushed to fill a cup.

When he'd taken a few drinks and the coughing finally stopped, he leaned back against the pillows, even more pale and breathing heavily. Roger closed his eyes and took a few shaky breaths, wiping his forehead again.

"Well _that_ didn't feel good." He said calmly, his voice a mixture of pain and amusement. He sounded so much worse than when we were at the Kennedy Bar.

"Are you ok?" I asked again. He opened his eyes and looked at me, then laughed briefly.

"Relax. Sit down." He said quietly, his voice straining even more than before.

"Roger, tell me. Come on." I said, trying to get myself ready for whatever he'd have to say.

"Are you sure you want to hear this?" He asked, and I nodded, though, in truth, I wasn't very sure at all. "Ok." Pause. "I'm sick, Mark." He said with great brevity, though a small smile escaped at the end. How can he joke around right now?

"Roger."

"Mark." He mocked me. Alright, so all I've gathered so far is that he's in a good mood. A surprisingly good mood, considering the circumstances. Seeing the look on my face, he started laughing at me, though directly after that he began coughing again.

When the worst of it was over he leaned over the side of the bed and coughed a disgusting amount of phlegm into a basin. I filled his cup with water once more and he drank it gratefully.

"I'm thinking of starting a collection." He joked, gesturing to the basin.

"That's disgusting."

"That's hospital humor." He returned, once again smiling.

"Why are you being so blasé about all of this?" I asked, feeling completely alienated by his attitude. This isn't funny. He's in the hospital. He looks like shit. Something's not right here.

"Oh, come on, Mark. We all knew this was coming. It doesn't have to be all Gloom and Doom." Roger said, his voice nearly going out completely at the end.

"It's just- I mean, you were fine yesterday." I said, not understanding this new Roger at all.

"No, I wasn't, Mark." He replied, taking another drink of water.

"Yes you were." I told him, hoping that my saying it would make it true. He was fine yesterday. He was fine.

"No, I wasn't." He repeated with finality. I didn't know what to say. Has he been sick and I just didn't see it? How could I not have seen it? There was a deafening silence between us while I tried to fight back the lump welling up in my throat, the itching behind my eyes that threatened to spill over at any second. This isn't happening. He'll be ok. Right?

"Roger- you're supposed to be my best man." I whispered quietly, wiping my eyes hurriedly. Roger raised his eyebrows.

"A little selfish, there, isn't it, Mark?" He asked. I winced and looked out the window.

"It didn't come out right." I mumbled. Another silence fell between us. Roger didn't say anything until I finally looked back at him.

"I'll be there, Mark. You don't have to worry about that. Ok?"

"Mr. Davis, how are you feeling?" A doctor asked, coming into the room and flipping on the light. Roger and I both squinted in the sudden bright, white, sterility of the room. About fucking time. Finally someone who will give me a straight answer.

"Well, I'm just dandy, doctor, and yourself?" Roger asked with a grin. The doctor laughed and shook his head.

"Sarcasm will get you nowhere." He told us.

"Give it time." Roger shot back. The doctor turned to me.

"I'm Dr. Spencer." He held out his hand and I shook it. Please give us some good news.

"Mark. Cohen." I told him mechanically.

"Ok." Dr. Spencer was back to business. "How's the fever?" He grabbed the chart at the end of Roger's bed and flipped a few pages, musing. I tried to wait patiently, using Roger as the example. He looked so casual about it all. "Ok. Good. I told them to send up some hot water and tea to try and help with the throat pain. Have you expelled any more mucus?" He asked, and Roger proudly held up the tray. "Excellent. Make sure you don't try and hold it in, ok?" Roger nodded and Dr. Spencer scanned the chart once more. "Alright, Mr. Davis. What we're looking at here is a bad case of a sinus infection brought on by RSV-"

"No- stop right there. I am _done_ with letters. HIV, AZT, blah, blah, blah." Roger laughed. "Let's just cut to the chase."

"Well, RSV stands for respiratory syncytial virus. It generally occurs in small children, but also affects the elderly and those with compromised immune systems, like yourself." Dr. Spencer said. "You're lucky you came in when you did. Even a common cold could severely effect you if your t-cells are low enough, but yours are actually in pretty good standing, considering. I don't expect this too keep you down for too long." Oh, thank God. "Your fever is already coming down after the shot we gave you, so that's very promising."

"Great. So when can I get out of here?" Roger asked hoarsely . "I have some celebrating to do." The doctor laughed at Roger's gung-ho attitude.

"I'd like to keep you over night just to be on the safe side, but if things check out we'll release you in the morning. Does that sound ok?"

"Nope. But I suppose it'll have to do." Roger said. The doctor laughed and left the room. "See? I'll be fine." He sat up a little more against his pillows and smiled cheerfully, but I caught his sigh of relief a moment later.

God, he's good at hiding his fear.

"Get out of here. I'm pretty tired." Roger said a moment later.

"I'd like to stay." I told him, not wanting to miss anything else.

"I'm fine, Mark. Seriously. I'm just gonna sleep. Unless there's something of dire importance that you'd like to say to my prostrate, sleeping form, I suggest you do the same."

**(Amy's Perspective)**

Mark came back to the waiting room in a sort of half-daze and told us that Roger would be fine, that he was getting released in the morning and that Roger told him to tell us that we should all go home. Something didn't feel right about it, but I didn't want to say anything in front of everyone.

Maureen and Joanne left first, tired and hungry and with busy mornings ahead of them. Collins and Benny decided to go have another drink, but Mark and I declined, slowly making our way back to the loft, not saying much at all. Mark held my left hand in his right, slowly twisting my engagement ring around my finger the whole way home.

"Mark?" I asked quietly as we got ready for bed. He's too quiet. He's freaking me out.

"Yeah?"

"What happened?" A vague question followed with a vague answer.

"We talked." Mark told me.

"About what?"

"Nothing." And Mark went to go brush his teeth. I got myself a glass of water and did the same.

In bed a few minutes later, Mark suddenly pulled me close to him and I felt a stream of warm tears against my skin.

"I was so scared." He whispered.

"I know."

"I'm not ready for that." He whispered.

"I know."

"I love you." He whispered.

**(Roger's Perspective)**

Everything I worked for will forever be overshadowed by what happened after.

I made an album, and all he could talk about were doctors.

I wanted to make them proud of me, and I ended up lying on the floor of the Kennedy Bar.

I wanted to have one night of glory, and instead I get a night of temperature checks.

Fuck, I was scared. I just wanted to get through that song. Just that last song. I needed to finish because I didn't know if I'd ever have another chance. I remember trying to memorize every face I could see so that I wouldn't loose this night. I just needed to finish that last song.

I turned over in the narrow hospital bed and cried silently for a while, feeling like I failed. Realizing that I accomplished my one goal in life, yet that didn't mean shit. It didn't mean that I was invincible. It didn't mean a cure. It didn't mean life. It didn't mean immortal. It didn't mean glory.

It meant a checkmark in a column of things to do before I die.

And it scared the shit out of me that I might never get to check off another thing.

And it scared the shit out of me that Mark thought that I was going to die.

And it scared the shit out of me that, deep down, I thought so, too.

And it scared the shit out of me that I'm not at all ok with that.

And it scared the shit out of me that I could be that scared.

Tonight is the most alone I've ever felt in my life.


	20. I Wish You Love

_I'm sorry._

_-Morgan_

**Do You Think I Can Tell People About Your Eyes?**

**(Amy's Perspective- One Month After the Previous Chapter)**

"Mr. and Mrs. Cohen? Welcome." A pleasant voice said suddenly, causing both Mark and me to jump slightly. We stood, hand in hand, and allowed her to introduce herself. "My name is Anna. Right this way." She led us into an intimate office and gestured for us to sit down.

'Mr. and Mrs. Cohen'. That's the first time anyone has said that since the wedding. It doesn't feel as good as I thought it would.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I swallowed a potential sob. Mark felt me tense up, and brought our joined hands up to his mouth, kissing the back of my hand gently. Affectionately. Lovingly. God, I love him.

"Have you made any special arrangements that I need to know about?" Anna asked us, and we shook our heads. No. Roger was adamant. Was. I took a deep breath. _Was_. "Ok. I'm going to walk you through the service so that you'll know, roughly, the order. All right?" She asked, and Mark shook his head once more, saying,

"We don't, um, really need a service. Roger wasn't religious- or anything, but- We'd rather just have maybe a small prayer at the beginning and end, and- I mean, one of us can do that. He just, um, wanted us to gather, really. Just wanted us to gather here."

"Oh. I see." There was a pause and she didn't exactly judge us or anything, but she did size us up in a new way. "Have you considered having a wake instead? At a funeral home? I think it might be more cost-effective." She offered helpfully. I shook my head.

"No. He wanted it to be here." I said quietly.

We finished the meeting and quickly left the church.

"I love you." Mark whispered in my ear as he kissed my cheek.

"I love you, too." I told him as my eyes welled up, once again, in tears.

-----------------

Roger never came home from the hospital after the night he collapsed in the Kennedy Bar. After Mark and I left that night, his T-cells dropped. Plummeted, really. Dangerously low. Three days later, his 'common cold' turned into a viral infection. A week after that, he had double pneumonia. That's when the lesions started. And the delusions. And about a thousand other equally heartbreaking things went wrong. And then yesterday we lost him.

Mark was a rock. Throughout the entire process, I didn't ever really see him falter. Our wedding was the only time he seemed to let himself go. To let himself be somewhere other than with Roger.

-------------

_Flashback- Two weeks after Roger's collapse_

-------------

"_Amy?" Mark asked me, shaking me gently awake. Oh, God. Oh no._

"_Mark? What is it- it's not-" I paused, uncertain._

"_Amy, will you marry me?" Mark asked me._

"_What? Mark, we're already engaged." I told him, confused._

"_At the hospital. In the chapel there. So Roger- So Roger can be my best man?" He asked. Oh, God. "Can we? We can get married again, have the ceremony again, later, if you want. But- I really need him to be there. The first time, at least." Mark said quietly, twisting the engagement ring in circles on my finger. _

"_Yes." Was all I could say, my heart aching for him so suddenly I thought I would start to cry. _

"_Thank you." He said, and kissed my cheek. _

_He finally admitted it. Accepted it. Roger's not coming home. He's the only one who hadn't. Even Roger knows. I can see it in his eyes. Mark was the last one to acknowledge it. And I suddenly wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing._

_Either way, I pulled him close._

-------------

_Forward- Present day_

-------------

We got married two days later. A small service. Maureen didn't get to do the place up with all the craziness she'd planned out, and for that I was almost sad. It would have been something to laugh about, anyway.

We still had fun. Maureen and Joanne were there, of course. And Collins and Benny. Roger, in a wheelchair; a nurse, an IV and an iron lung trailing behind him. Collins snuck in some Stoli in a flask.

Mark made me really happy. The situation made me sad.

"_When you came into my life, I don't think I valued you like I should have." Mark told me, staring into my eyes as we spoke our own vows. "And it's quite possible that I still don't. But- I realized quickly that you were someone in my life, like only a few others around me, that I was very blessed to have. You were a connection that I couldn't ignore. A lifeline that I couldn't survive without. I love you because of who you are, and the care and support and love that you give to the people that matter to you. You make me so happy and so grateful and so full of hope that sometimes just seeing you takes my breath away. If it's possible, I'd like to spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you; how much you mean to me."_

And so we were married.

**(Mark's Perspective)**

When Amy and I got back to the loft, it hit me like it hasn't ever before that Roger won't be here ever again. Ever again. I stood near the door for a moment, surveying my world without him in it. I felt like my entire chest had just caved in.

Walking farther into the loft, I picked up some of Roger's possessions that we brought home from the hospital and took them into his room to put into the closet, noting that Collins still isn't home. Why does he always have to run?

I wound my way through the living room, gathering more of Roger's things as I went, planning to put them away as well, when I realized that Amy was standing in the doorway to our bedroom, watching me. My beautiful, beautiful wife.

"I think you should leave them. For a little while." She said quietly, biting her bottom lip. I paused, mid-step and looked at her quizzically. She continued, "He doesn't have to go away all at once." Pause as her eyes misted over. "Or completely." Pause. "Or at all." She whispered.

I looked down at the belongings in my hands. A scarf. A magazine. A t-shirt. A notebook. "You're right." And I put them back where I found them, then went to her and wrapped my arms around her tiny frame.

This is so hard.

The phone rang and I pulled away to answer it. "Hello?" I asked.

"Hi there, my name is Jake Mitchell and I'm calling for Roger Davis. Is he in?" A man's voice asked. Holy hell, how do I answer that?

"Um, no. He's-" I froze. "-not." I finished lamely. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"He's one hard man to get a hold of." Jake said. "Listen, can I leave a message for him? I'm with Static Records and I'd really like to take a meeting. Listened to his demo, you know, and really think he could go far-"

"Um, actually," I said, cutting him off, feeling my heart drop right out of my body, "you can't leave a message." I told him, trying to get the words out for the first time.

"I'm sorry?" He asked, confused.

"Roger died yesterday." I blurted out. "He's gone." I said. God, that's hard to say. God, it hurts that this guy is calling.

"Oh. Oh my God. I'm- sorry. I'll let you go." He said awkwardly, not knowing what to do.

"Goodbye." I said, and hung up. What irony. What bullshit timing. "Uh-" was all I got out before I started crying. For the first time since Roger died. "A record label. For Roger." I sobbed. "Too late." I shook my head in disbelief. "It's too late."

-------------

_Flashback- The Day Before_

_-------------_

"_Hey, buddy." Roger said through chapped lips when he woke up._

"_Hey. Hi. How are you doing?" I asked him, pouring some water into a cup. Hopefully he'll drink a little. _

"_I'm good. Can't you see that?" He smiled, his bottom lip cracking a bit and a thin line of blood forming. I moved his oxygen mask slightly and put the straw up to his lips, holding it carefully so I didn't get any blood on my hands. He took the smallest of sips and settled back once more. I situated the mask against his nose and mouth._

"_Well, you're looking good." I lied._

"_I'm sick, Mark. I'm not stupid." He shot at me, smiling again. "But not for long." He said, looking away from me, across the room. "How're my angels?" He seemed to ask the wall._

"_If you mean me and Collins, you're sorely mistaken if you call us angels." I tried to joke._

"_I don't." Roger said simply._

"_Touche." I said._

"_Amy's beautiful, Mark." He told me._

"_I know." I replied, confused by his sudden statement. There was a long silence between us._

"_I love you, Mark." Roger whispered._

"_Don't. You promised you wouldn't say that until-" I said. We promised not to do that. Not until we had to. Not until it was time._

"_I love you, Mark." He repeated, still staring at the wall. _

"_Stop it, Roger." I said, scared._

"_Look, Mark. Beautiful." He said, smiling widely at the wall. "Tell them I love them, okay?"_

"_Roger? Don't. Please don't." I said, grabbing his hand, which he'd lifted for the first time in days. _

"_It's ok, Mark. You don't have to tell me. I know." He said, squeezing my hand. "Love Amy like I never got to love Mimi, Mark. Do the things we couldn't."_

"_Roger. I love you." I told him, and he finally looked at me. _

"_My friend." His eyes filled with tears. "Brother." Pause. "I wish you love."_

"_Don't. Please, don't." I sobbed, clutching his hand tighter. It was already too late. But he was smiling._

_-------------_

_Forward- Present_

_-------------_

"I'm not ready for tomorrow." I whispered to Amy as we lay in bed that night. "I wasn't ready for today."

-------------------------------------------------------

_Short chapter, and not what you expected, but I wrote myself into a corner and this is what came out. More to follow soon. I promise._

_-Morgan_


End file.
